Just like my old Ford Crown VictoriaWhat an absurd nameHenry, bestow this gold hat on the Queen of EnglandAlways joking, now let’s get serious Thirty year-old piece-a-shitCigarette-burned upholsterySpill-stained seatsScarred, scratched surface Flaws and all, despite the odds,That engine keeps tickingSome how, some wayThat old beater gets me there,Each night, each day Many miles and yearsContinue reading “Broken Heart Loved: a poem”