Poetry

Old Bug

I remembered the way it sputtered to life,
the familiar rumble of its engine,
the way I learned it’s nuances
and coaxed it to do what I wanted.
It was my first love.
I drove it on my first date,
my first road trip.
For all those years.
And then she died
and left me behind.
To create new memories.
But I’ll always remember
the ones she gave me.

© Sarah Doughty

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4 thoughts on “Old Bug”

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