extra credit poem. H.S. english class. They got an 'A'.

[tri again]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Engine --

Look at you, drinking gasoline

in a steady flow,

Purring with the easy shake of the

exhaust,

Turning the fan and circulating water

to cool yourself

Easy as can be ...



We use, but rarely admire you,

Your faithfulness, your loyalty,

your rhythm,

Nimble as a dancer's step ...



All know the greasy metal,

the stink, the heat, the cracked

and grimy gaskets, the defeated clutch,

the shoeless brakes that have eaten

into their drums, exploded mufflers,

failed tires, dead batteries,

While so few have appreciated with

understanding

the steady beat of all the engineering

ticking fine --



It's a miracle, and a homey one at that:

So many things working together to turn

a single shaft.

Valves opening and closing to the

predetermined rhythm

of the ever-turning crank,

Communicated through the simple mechanism

of a chain.



Oh spark-plugs, sparking at the command

of the

loquacious rotor

Oh silent coil secretly amplifying

the power of the battery

Oh carburetor, mixing air and gasoline

like an alchemist

Oh oil-pan humbly lying below all things,

filling up with sludge and filings --

Oh engine, we take for granted the burden

you bear --

mutely your cylinders and rings wear away --

your flywheel loses its teeth --

your valves become encrusted --

the intelligence of your steel decays,

is worn away by time -- you fumble,

you falter -- the trim muscles of good

compression waste away -- gravity gets you

down -- you do not make the hills, you

cannot

pull the load anymore.

Oh worn away, oh broken down,

Oh tired and unsteady, you are

passed on to the poor,

To those who gamble on a transmission

And play Russian Roulette

with a recalcitrant starter.

And you will try, you will exert yourself

To uphold their faith,

Drinking watered gasoline, putting up with

Quantities of cheap oil that you

Blow out in a sickly exhaust.

So come away, come away then

There is no heaven for you, to be

earned

By grace or works !

Render them good service --

Three-hundred dollars worth and then,

in the parking lot of the supermarket,

in the carport,

on a long haul over a steep hill,

Give it up --

Burn your bearings,

crack your head,

throw a rod,

Give it up ! Disintegrate the order

that maintains you,

forget the intelligence that makes you

different from scrap,

Annihilate the hot homeostasis that

maintains your monotonous life --

Give it up, like a fevered

illusion,

And submit to the junkman's hook.

[Mr_RPM]

Pretty awesome