Ode to a not-so-Grand Marquis

'Twas eight-thirty this morning and down Bristol Road
I drove away from my Streetsville abode
Not a light was stirring on my darkened dash
I foresaw no problem, no breakdown, no crash

When what to my horrified ears did arise?
But the sounds a transmission makes when it dies
There came from below such a terrible clatter
Oh crap! I exclaimed, What the hell is the matter?

I pulled to the curb and killed the ignition
Oh please! I exclaimed, not the transmission!
The engine stuttered and sputtered and stopped
I put it in park, out the door I hopped

I yanked on the lever and threw up the hood
Not knowing why but supposing I should
A cloud of blue smoke did billow and grow
Leaving hazy glimpses of the engine below

I feared the old beast must finally be dead
Visions of bank loans danced in my head
Back in the seat, my head on the wheel
I prayed that this all was a dream and not real

I gripped the ignition with a silent plea
I crossed my fingers and turned the key
The motor grumbled and rumbled to life
Giving faint hope of an end to this strife

I took hold of the shifter and put it in drive
In hopes the transmission might still be alive
I stepped on the gas with a fervent prayer
But the damned old car wouldn't go anywhere

A string of expletives burst from my lips
This Grand old Marquis would make no more trips
I went to see if a payphone was near
In hopes that a tow truck might soon be here

I borrowed the phone and the yellow pages
From a friendly merchant, then waited for ages
Santos the tow-truck man finally appeared
With a wink and a nod he confirmed my worst fears

With his hairy chest and his greasy old cap
He assured me the vehicle was nothing but scrap
I can take this car off your hands, he offered
I gazed at the four green bills that he proffered

Eighty old dollars was all he would pay
He gave me the cash and he towed her away
I waved farewell but the tow man didn't
Good bye you old beast! Good bye and good riddance!