For my first car, a great Ford Laser Lynx

Goodbye Purpley.
You’ve been a very good car,
tolerated the crap I’ve put you through,
like crashing you twice,
and taking you out for pointless sunset drives to nowhere, in the name of self-indulgent rubbish that was small even at the time.
Also, you were very brave as I tried to reverse you up a friend’s driveway,
and ended up skinning you alive on the pittosporums.
You’ve wearily accepted that I’m still ignoring the knocking of your dying CV,
like I’d hide in the kitchen and ignore a Jehovah’s witness knocking on the front door.
The other night when I wanted a hug Mike joked
‘why don’t you hug Purpley?’
Actually, I did feel like sneaking a kiss on your driver’s door,
the vehicular version of a gentle kiss on the cheek.
I’m trying to sell you now,
giving you all sorts of fancy names for the ads:
Princess Purpley, Miss Purpley, the Gorgeous Purpley.
Soon someone else will drive you away,
and the car that took me through 18 months will be gone,
just like that year and a half is gone,
and now belongs somewhere else.