Men don’t make cars like they used to:
long sweeping lines, fire-red, jazzy blue,
poetic palettes, a richer array of hues.
Horns happily honked, grilles grinned,
arch-covered spoked wheels spinned,
engines growled – wondrous whirlwind!
Dial displays, walnut wood dashboards,
large leather seats with room to afford
– classic cars will never leave you bored!
Our Sixties saloon-six-cylinder growled,
that brown Triumph 2000 tiger-prowled,
acceleration fast – Morris Minors scowled.
One day my dad bought an MG sports,
male madness, a mid-life crisis of sorts;
famously, all five fitted in, of course!
Parents in hand-stitched leather seats,
I bent in footwell, near mother’s feet,
boot and bench filled, family complete.
More modest cars purchased on divorce,
gone grand engines, farewell sport-torque
– replaced by budget brands of ill-report…
image: Alan Fearnley