Out on the shores of Port Heiden’s beaches,
Away from society’s sick sinister reaches,
Dwells a bygone relic of an unknown car.
Experts suspect it likely came from afar.
Faded, dirty, busted up, and blue,
Once oh-so-lustrous in sheen, shine, and hue,
Rusted seat adjuster all laden in germs
Rotted couch cushions devoured by worms.
Could your prior vehicle have been quaint and quite rustic?
Was your fabled place of origin really foreign or domestic?
Where did you journey before the beach took your mass?
Did you have a favorite highway, byway, or overpass?
Perchance you once had a whacky owner named Stu
Who knew in his heart that he couldn’t keep you.
Cause your headrest was a bit awkward and weird,
And that color kinda clashed with his orangy beard.
We all wondered these things and many many more,
Who knows what your history might have in store.
You look real rough and your fluff seems so soggy,
And I bet those stains smell pretty darn boggy.
But your decomposition (unintentional or planned),
Seems better than demolition by malicious hands.
The brisk whipping winds will soon bury you deep,
Among black sands, clams, and bitter beauty beneath.
THE END
Alaska: Village to Village 