My Old Auto

By Jim Hagarty

My heart is my transmission,
My mind, the steering wheel.
Some days I put it into drive
And let my tires squeal.

Some days I like to idle,
Some days I’m in reverse.
Some days the other drivers
Get mad at me and curse.

But I’m in no big hurry.
I’ll get there, by and by.
My car’s not very speedy.
But then, neither am I.

My heart is my transmission.
The engine is my soul.
To get us all home safely
Has always been my goal.

So just pull out and pass me
And leave me in your wake.
I will enjoy my journey
However long it takes.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.