A man had just married an automobile
The wedding was lavish and large
The man was a Ford who got easily bored
The automobile's name was Marge.
His arms ran like pipes down his
muscular hood
Out of his mouth rose black-sooted fumes
Her doe eyes were large and savagely bright
As if on her visage were two tiny moons.
He retold the story of the day that they met
With a sudden and loud honking sound
She hid abashedly behind rounded,
large hands
As a bottle o' black whiskey he downed.
“He needs it for energy,” she told her
bridesmaids
Who considered the match with remorse
They sat on their trunks, sipped mud coffee and tutted
“You could've at least gotten a Porsche.”
The strangest part of the ceremony
Was when the priest had let out a shout
For God as his witness, the Bible was empty
The book was blank, all the words had
fallen out.