Cold Start
Cold starting the car on a crisp autumn morning
my Dad wasn't the happiest bloke,
put antifreeze in it, ran the engine, ten minutes
and then he could pull out the choke.
On his pale blue Austin the locks needed defrosting,
condensation to clear from inside,
warm water down the screen and then give it a clean
after that, it was ready to ride.
In my sixty second year, like that old car, I fear
(and it crept up on me without knowing),
I now have developed a cold start routine
since otherwise I can't get going.
Wipe the sleep from my eyes,
stretch my arms to the sides,
move my head in a figure of eight,
a good cough to feel better
clears my carburettor,
then a yawn, and a two minute wait.
I get out of bed but my exhaust backfires,
I wasn't quite expecting that,
with a moan the good lady hides under the sheets
and I'm left with a disgusted cat.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
