After years of lusting, I can finally afford my dream car... albeit secondhand
Yes, it’s a Jag, but still – Frieda Hughes’ new car is both secondhand and delivered covered in layers of mud and rainwater
F-Type
My new second-hand car
Was delivered in a coat of everything on the road
From sodden Welsh fields via Bristol,
On another day of our eternal damp
And a night of snow and drizzle.
But beneath the mud slick black paintwork
Lies an engine that could be named after
A discontinued vegetable drink.
I used to fantasise about brake horsepower ratios
When perusing showrooms of show ponies
That had price tags
So far above my head that I couldn’t reach,
Even if I stood on tiptoe
On the roof of my old Jag.
But time passed, and the years
Lowered the bar until finally, now,
The age of the car
Has diminished its financial weight
And I can rehome all those horses
Round at my place.
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