Thirsty Cars

Thirsty Cars Those steep, tiring hills going home, I had been in town bought a new kitchen sink, the second one in forty years, nothing lasts, that’s how traders make their ill-gotten gains. My car was exhausted trailing smoke, to lighten its burden I alighted walked in front as it followed me slowly. On a flat stretch it teasingly overtook and drove in front of me and down a track into a deep ravine where feral donkeys live and run unlicensed garages I wasn’t in the mood to play “follow the leader,” so I walked home past wayside bars where cars guzzled Brazilian cane fuel and flashed their indicators, I ignored this depravity and hasted away. Midnight, when my car pulled up outside, it had lost the kitchen-sink and was splattered in manure of the long eared members of the horse family.