On Parting with the Old Mini
I got you from my dad two years ago
and you’re a smart one – there’s no doubt of that.
I mean, it’s like you’re always in the know,
you’re with it somehow – though you’re not for show.
I mean, you never was worth looking at.
Why, when I got you there was two tyres flat,
a battery near gone, and brakes askew.
To crooks what’s like my dad I raise my hat –
and yet their smartness aint a patch on you.
It’s sort of weird like when you moans and groans,
pushed up to sixty – yet it’s soothing too.
I mean, as you go kicking up them stones
to keep a blasted lorry out what drones
right up your number-plate – I’m telling you,
you sing so sweet it’s like a bird what flew.
And when we’re late for work and it’s a race,
you’ve got a sort of gift for getting through
on orange – and for plundering parking-space
right by the old yard entrance. You’ve a natural
talent, mate, and I’m right sad you’re going.
’Cos as you know, on Thursday comes your actual
’Illman Imp. The wife’s got kind of spirit’le
about this Imp – but there’s a lot what’s owing
from me to you, old friend. You aint a Boeing,
you aint a beauty neither, and your brakes –
I ’ave to tell myself it’s always snowing!
No, skids apart like, you’ve got what it takes.
I’ve run you broke on water, skint on oil,
’ydraulic fluid – what’s that, some kind of slop?
I’ve let you fume and smoke and pong and boil,
and yet you wouldn’t stop – ’cos why? you’re loyal.
You wouldn’t knock off, leave me on the ’op.
Gawd’s sake, we’ve dodged a blind old traffic cop
a ’undred times, with a great black gapin’ ’ole
where your left ’eadlamp was. No, you’d not stop.
’Cos why? ’Cos in that scrap-iron is a soul.
I mind now when at night, the rain fair bucketin’,
the windscreen gear packed up and the blinkers fused –
we was ’alfway back from Gatwick. Did we chuck it in?
Course not. Gawd! We missed our turns, chug-chugetin’
some lunatic way ’ome. How I’ve abused
you, mate, your blasted scrap-heap what I’ve used!
It’s cheers, old faggot. Yet, you know, I’m wonderin’ –
when my time’s up and off the road I’ve cruised –
if I won’t see you somewhere, gold and thunderin’!