Ode to the PIF

She's not at all flashy

in fact, she's quite plain

She'll never turn heads

but we can't complain

She starts every morning

with nary a fuss

She's much more convenient

than catching the bus

She has two cup holders

luggage fits in her boot

Her horn isn't raucous

just a cheery Toot, Toot!

With two she's quite comfy

four's more of a squeeze

But finding a parking spot?

Now that is a breeze!

Her engine is spunky

though lacking in power

We surmise four squirrels

just scamper for hours

The PIF isn't bothered

with the need to belong

Confident and Cheerful

she tootles along

When traffic is horrid

she scoots in and out

Leaving the AUDIs

with no shred of clout

She takes us to castles

grand buildings of old

Crisscrossing the country

then back again home

Not all cars get names

but the PIF is unique

Without her our lives

would be rather bleak

So raise up a glass

to our tiny friend

The Suzuki Swift

on which we depend

PS The PIF is my sister Jennifer and her husband, Jason's car, while they are teachers at an international school in Papa, Hungary. Small, curvy roads require small cars, and with gasoline at $16 a gallon, the smaller the better. It is a rare car that inspires poetry, even bad poetry, but the PIF, named for her license plate, is indeed a gem. (: