Our Bagel Flamed Out

Here's a tale of a white Chevy Corvair, I car I'll never forget Repossessed from a gypsy, I'd be willing to bet... On a cold, snowy winter night, February 1968 This 'bagel' was to drive the gang and me on the interstate From Chicago, IL to Racine, WI, a basketball game there to play I groaned to myself: "We'll never get there. No way!" The tires were bald; both windshields were cracked I searched in the trunk: neither spare tire nor jack This junker burned oil something terribly fierce, and the brakes were suspect, which was probably worse But we all piled in, eight of us in a car seating five We were cramped like sardines, more dead than alive And as soon as we started to pick up some speed Two floorboards gave way; that's all we didn't need Gas fumes swirled round our heads, making us light What with the snow and the cold, the driver couldn't see right Somehow we piled out at the gym, stumbled onto the court When our bagel exploded to bits, with lots of smoke and a snort The game went by in a daze and a haze, as the bagel flamed out Taking a train home, we cursed that Corvair the whole ride throughout July 14, 2019 The Old Jalopy Poetry Contest Sponsor: Craig Cornish