Most of the tears sunk into your matted fabric seats with one too many
cigarette burns (I don’t smoke, really)
are mine.

Dual service: vehicle and incubator of
anguish.
Tint the windows, lock the doors. 
Muffle sobs and animal sounds in heavy metal.

I can’t count the number of times you listened to me play shit music and ran me away.

But once, you chased a sunset to see if you could catch it.
Sure, your acceleration sounded like the contents of a hardware shop dumped into a magic bullet but god, you tried so hard. 

When it faded you’d taken us to the river
which was just as good.