In the back lot
Behind an old grease factory
A hulking metal shell of a car
Is trying its hardest to return
To the earth from where it once came
Rust flowers on its doors
Have blossomed and climbed
Up its pillars and onto the roof
Blooming brilliant red and orange in the sun
Sills have fallen through
Leaving rusted holes to be filled
By the flowers of weeds
Prettier than any flowers money could buy
Rainbows of refracted light
Resting on the faded, torn seats
Cast by the in-fun smashed windscreen
Caused by those who still know what its like
To be young
