a poem: but not written by me!

Twas the day after Christmas and out in the shed,
Sat a tired old Moggie, it’s battery dead.
It’s bumpers were rusted, the floor pans had holes, the seats and carpets had been eaten by moles.
The tyres had dry rot, the fuel tank was leaking, a turn of the steering wheel sent tie rods a-creaking.
So I put on my coat with a weight on my heart, and went out to the shed to get it to start.
The engine turned over-there arose such a clatter! I knew from the sound, “timing chain chatter”.
From under the dash there came a bright flash: the wiring harness had just turned to ash!
“I’ve had it with Morgans!” I finally swore.
“Enough is too much! I can’t take any more!”
When what to my red, teary eyes should appear, but a little Englishman (hey, I might need a beer!)
“Good day,” I heard, as he tapped on my shoulder, “I’m Joe Lucas” he said as the car continued to smoulder.
“This one can be saved; there’s no reason to grieve. All you need is some faith man, you’ve got to believe!”
“A hammer! Some duct tape! Get me some tools! When you work on these cars, just make up the rules!”
“We’ll get her cranked over – no way that she’ll stall ( but stand over there with your back to the wall).”
A cough and a splutter, the cacophony stunning, I couldn’t believe it! The old thing was running!
The ghost winked at me and said, kicking a tyre, “Whatever you do, DO NOT TOUCH THIS WIRE!”
The old man then vanished amid sneezes and farts, but when the smoke cleared he had left me some parts.
So I opened the shed door and let the windows down, put pedal to metal and went in to town.
And I thought to myself as I crunched second gear-
Merry Christmas to all and Happy New Year.

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