An Ode to Gertie

Oh Gertrude,

They know not what they speak of.

Forgive them when they blaspheme against you.

For you are more than a 9-ton rust trap;

You are our future.

A future laden with photographs,

with adventures,

with unnecessary stops to pee.

But a future, all the same.

You yearn for more than your rotting wood,

strive for more than just turning on.

And you will get there.

Eventually.

Your gears will be lubed by the love of all your future inhabitants.

In a completely not-gross, non-sexual way.

And you will fly,

Going your top speed of probably 70,

Down the highway,

If we’re lucky.

Carrying us to our many destinations.

If we’re lucky.

Visiting the mountainsides.

If we’re lucky.

And maybe,

just maybe.

If we’re lucky,

You will keep us warm and dry.

And love us until the end.

So we can go all the places our hearts desire.

Together.

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