A new poem, written last week and debuted at Friday's Evening of Music and Poetry in Cranbury:
By Hank Kalet
Her car was 12 years old,
as old as her son, but less reliable,
drinking gas and burning oil,
tires bald and the paint flaking off
the front left quarter panel.
Last month, it needed a new battery,
seventy-five dollars that she didn’t have
so it sat a week as she waited on her paycheck,
caught the bus or a ride from Jill,
or sometimes walked in the early morning dark
the four miles down a road busy even at that hour,
but at least it’s running now, though she knows
it’s just a matter of time before it
blows a gasket or the insurance bill comes due.