I shall never again contrive
to stand with soapy bucket in drive—
hose too short, too much lather
too much muss, fuss and bother.

Nor will I do the self-drive through
The flashing lights I bump into
I feel like I am under attack

I’d rather sip coffee while watching a crew
vacuum the inside, and drive it right through
the car emerges all wet and clean
full service wash is my favorite routine

the guys dust and polish, they dry and shine
scramble in and out until it’s all fine
I watch with relish everything they do
then drive off carefree, like the auto is new

But COVID comes along and steals all my fun
months pass by, no carwash run.
Car collects dirt, grime and stains.
I drive little, hope for rain.

Greater risk grunge or death?
Scared to have guys with germy breath
exhale inside and touch controls
‘til car looks like me, worn and old.

Then spy new auto shiny and clean
cute color, compact, and gas-free.
Take a drive, no lack of speed.
Could this be the ride for me?

Divorced dirty car with nary a tear.
My COVID tale for all to hear:
Filthy car? Trade it in.
Take something clean out for a spin.

Lenore Hirsch writes poetry, essays, and short stories. Her books include her dog’s memoir, My Leash on Life; a poetry collection, Leavings; and Laugh and Live, Advice for Aging Boomers. She is currently writing a novel about the adventures of a middle school vice principal. See lenorehirsch.com, laughing-oak.com.