Ode to a Rustic Escape

Here I sit in a darkened room
With no power to call my own.

Only just a few minutes and soon
I won’t even have my phone.

Left to live as the pioneers did.
I’m about to leave the grid!

No TV. No radio. No motorcar.
Oh wait! Another bar!

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My Car Is Sick (a poem)

My car is sick
I have to stick
To buses and trains
Like I have no brains
For expensive repair
I’m in despair
Bring back my baby to me

My car is sick
Please fix it quick
Please make it better
Or I’ll need a sweater
For warmth

My car is sick
Maybe I’ll trick
The man next door
Into taking me to the store
For groceries.

My car is sick
Like a candle’s wick
That’s been snuffed out
And stepped on.

My car is sick
No more rhyming tricks
I think I’ll end it right here