She was a real bargain from what I could tell,

For $1350 it had four doors and drove like it was on rails.

A beat-up car is my transportation,

and it has to last until graduation.

This old car I pray will survive,

as I add a quart of oil before my two hour drive.

Some call her a clunker, a menace of the road,

but she is all this broke college student could afford.

How many miles? I do not know.

The odometer froze up ten years ago.

She always starts in hot or cold and the exhaust smokes, black as coal.

She marks her territory like an old dog,

dripping oil on every last parking spot.

Made out of iron and built like a tank,

the doors close like the vault in a bank.

With the face of a war hero she is weathered and worn out.

The dents like battle scars, she deserves a purple heart.

She has personality, a mind of her own;

sometimes the lights short out, but a kick puts them back on.

Small things get cracked or break to pieces,

but that interior door handle was not really needed.

The important parts stay together and that's what matters.

This raggedy ride has made it through a few disasters.

She was luxury back in the day, I would have been stylin' in 1980.

A car like this deserves a name, maybe Ruth or Betty,

my old whip is called Klankity.

College clunkers can be anything like Chevys or Fords,

old police cars with faded black and white doors.

A Subaru wagon or Volvo can fit the bill,

and especially a Mercedes with a broken grille.

If you drive a car like mine then you can agree,

These hoopties are fun but sometimes get the best of me.

Like being with an elderly family member suffering from dementia,

you learn to be patient and drive with an agenda.

I dream of my next car, when I have the money.

Don't get me wrong, I love this automobile, but she is a jalopy.

Time marches on and with that she has mortality.

I will miss that car someday because she is a friend to me.