Conjectured thoughts of a non-mechanic

If I was a car
I’d be a Morris Minor Traveller
the kind with wooden panels
and a door knob for an indicator.
I’d be the kind of car
that you’d be proud of
if someone said how lovely it was
but otherwise you’d keep
under a tarp in the garage.
There would be rust on my sills,
one wonky wheel that no-one could fix
(you can’t get the parts)
dry rot in the wooden struts
and the speedo
would never get past forty-five
without the gasket blowing.
But once in a while
you’d give it a polish
and call it good.