I got in my car, and turned the key;
The engine pathetically sputtered.
The idiot light on the dashboard blinked,
And the idiot—me—simply muttered.
It’s Satan again, playing loose with my car,
With his telekinetic abilities
Or else it’s the work of a communist spy
Who’s engaging in open hostilities.
Or maybe it’s gremlins, or grumpkins, or trolls,
Which magically live in the wires
Or the spirits of dinosaurs, haunting the gas,
Or a practical joke by the tires
The Car Gods might hate me for riding a bike
It might be the chipmunks at play
It could be I parked with the car facing South
And it messed with my auto feng shui
I questioned a psychic, a healer, a priest,
And I’m worried, and starting to panic;
My view of reality just took a hit…
And I might have to call a mechanic.