The sports car slingshots past me,
the morning sun sparkling
off its shining silver skin,
its license plate singing
"Upbeat"
as it effortlessly slides
through the Monday morning 
commute, increasing 
the distance
between us.

It's been years since
I've had a car 
that stated anything,
or even asked for attention,
my weather-worn Hyundai
after a decade 
still as efficient and anonymous
as the workers who assembled it.
Road weary,
taken for granted,
too humbled
to demand tags
that grumble 
a bashful
"Beat Up,"
to the heedless world 
brashly passing by.

This poem first appeared in U.S. 1 Newspaper.
Used here with the author's permission.