The Odd Machine an original poem by Kim Smith High atop the blackened rock, In the midst of a magic ring, Sat an emerald colored car It was an odd machine. The inspection sticker bore out its age From its perch upon the glass That swayed and twirled, a tattered flag Antique and shattered mass. The blackened rock bespoke of might A former glam, a beauty Now retired and wasted down Relieved of its great duty. The seats were like cracked coconut The wheel no longer useful The odd machine, a monster now If I am being truthful. The only

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