LBC … a Poem

The little car is off the ground
On jack stands in the air.
Where it spends a bit of time
Waiting for repair.

The pilot poet himself, with his LBC on the road where it belongs.

It could be brakes
I have a hunch
I just don’t know
Let’s go to lunch!

Somethings leaking
Something failed,
It’s always something
But parts are in the mail.

The clerks, my heros, at Moss Motors
Know my plight  and sympathize.
They may be able to retire
Should I buy out their supplies.

I could get that after market
At a fraction of the price,
But it’s my baby it’s my darling
I’ve got to treat her nice!

I dream of rolling o’er the roads
Wind blowing in my hair
But that was foolishness
As she’s still up in the air.

Waiting for a clip or pipe
A hose or one bleed nipple.
My car is down for fifty cents
Please pass that glass of ripple!

What do i hear is that the mail?
This might just be the day
But, no, just wishful thinking
As in the air she stays.

One of these days I’ll be the one
Just you wait and see
Careening down the road
In my little  L B C!

By Walt Hunter