Old Car

It was like a fallen phoenix Fired with rust and memories, The body was open to the rooks, Its ribbed, bare chassis, opened arms, Unsure whether to defend or Or make love to the falling sky The radiator, home to busy insects, Tiny carnivores, stood in sentinel, A figurehead before the rotten mast; For where had once been pedals Now gaped rusty sink holes, Observers to the oily brew below Sans wheels to show; wheels once Rolled, on busy metalled roads, Where policemen, eagle-eyed Checked for wily gangsters, riding On the leather seats inside: now Rat food gone to ratty- hell, amid The scrub and surrounds, tilted Viking coffin, waiting for heat and Cleansing, cracking-fire, opening Doors to buckled, automotive rest