MG – The End
My 1997 MG. Sold. 8.20 a.m.
Resplendent in racing green
Apart from the peeling lacquer
And the electrical faults
And the worn tyres. Selling
Took more from me than I
Knew I had
It is not the carburettor
Or the mid-engine warmth
Or its throaty roar
Nor is it the lack of suspension
Or inability to take on fuel
Except at dribble-pace
After all is said and done
It was a chariot of the gods
A carrier of persons
Of a bride, of long friends
Of Sir Gaffa to Calais
It is like us
A material courier
Of immaterial riches
Of inestimable worth
And so the ache
I unexpectedly felt
Is as real as the wind
As truly solid
And impervious
As a sigh
My bank balance of joy
Felt diminished, and yet
In its depletion
There is no emptying
No, our losses leave us
As intact as the equator
Joined to all who lose