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 part that still remained
As it once should have been
A side-view mirror stuck on the side
Still touting all its gleam.
A magnifying glass for certain
This tiny part would turn
If sun should hit it just right
A reflection it would burn.