Sunday, July 1, 2012

The Vehicle

by Ingrid Prohaska

So I stand here
abandoned and alone
outside of any civilization.

The sun burns through my cracked windscreen
draws strange pattern on my empty interior.
What kind of life is this? I wonder.

I was a reliable one for centuries
powerful yet economical in use.
I transported many goods
even when the weight was heavier
than I was built for.
They called me their good fellow.

Old-fashioned they called me one day
and not fast enough.
I was not useful anymore.

They brought me outside
and parked me somewhere in the nature.

Gangs found me on one of their rambles.
They took away what they thought
could be useful elsewhere
the front seats, the steering wheel,
even parts of my engine.

Weeks later they came back.
The girls used my mirrors to make them look better,
the boys hit my body with heavy tools.
They smashed my side windows
just for fun
and cut my backseat into pieces.

My skin turned pale with the sun of years,
my tires lost air
I sank to the ground.
Passersby threw waste in my inside
made jokes about my look.

One night some guys set me on fire
a one night wonder so it was said.
And I burnt out - completely.

Now I stand here
as a burnt out chassis
What kind of life is this? I wonder.
Just waiting
that the rain
corrodes me to dust.

Copyright © 2012 Ingrid Prohaska


  1. A sad poem, and yet I'm pleased to hear a peep from our Ingrid.

    1. Many thanks for viewing my first step after the break, JRD!
      I'm happy that the peep pleases. :)
      Hope everything's fine in the entire FlashPulp-Empire!

  2. Awesome (and sad) imagery! So good to hear from you Ingrid!

    1. Thank you so much, Joe!
      I think I'm on the right track back. See you soon!

  3. powerful running tale covers hundreds of years but in the end
    dust to dust is the tale