That's How Wild Woman Rolls

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Wild Woman drives

a spiffy '92 blue Toyota Corolla wagon

with 414,448 kilometres on it,

and that's a lot of

four's.

It has more rust holes

than an old milking pail

that has been at the landfill

since 1902.

It has so many dents that,

when a woman backed into it 

at high speed

at a gas station,

Wild Woman just said,

"No worries,"

and drove away, grateful

the woman had hit

the rear, 

rather than the driver's,

door.

Blue visited the shop today,

because things got so evil

under the hood

that a vital component

completely disappeared,

without explanation.

Mechanics surveyed

Wild Woman's

general deshabille

and lack of chic.

(Wild Woman and her true blue car

have both passed 

their Best Before dates, clearly.)

They appraised, with grave concern,

 the lumpy dented car

with its jaunty "I Love Tofino" bumper sticker,

and gently suggested that

a coolant flush

"was recommended,

but not essential,

in the general scheme of things,

like if food requirements, for example,

were truly pressing."

They asked if it had air conditioning.

 "No, I’m just grateful it still RUNS."

They laugh.

But Toyotas always do. 

No matter what

is Missing

or Less Than Perfect,

whenever Wild Woman turns the key,

it starts. 

Wild Woman will likely

still be driving it

for another five years.

The body may rust off,

but Blue will still be 

chugging happily along.

Just like me, 

Wild Woman realizes.

She identifies 

with her old car.

She loves its staunch brave heart,

its Can Do attitude.

It will take some serious Doing

to keep starting

longer than her

Toyota does.

Wild Woman is up

for the task.

I was thrilled, today, to realize that the mechanic assumed by my attire and wild hair, that I LIVED in Tofino. Made my day! My work here is done. Cackle.