I hate the way you take sharp turns and never act your age.
I hate the way you treat slow cars and bikes with serious road rage.
I hate the way your door is broken and that your window will not go down.
I hate the way you growl so loud informing others that you’re around.
I hate the way you play your games and try to lose Denise.
Even after all the passengers are adamant with their respective, “slow down please.”
I hate your need for speed and your broken second gear.
I almost always question your ability to even steer.
I hate that you need water every morning just in order to run.
I hate driving through hump city with you because your suspension is surely done.
I hate that you try to break down and not start on us at the Super-U.
Making Mike and I come give you a boost ensuring your rescue.
But, mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.
Who am I kidding? I love the Beast. And she deserves the attention she demands. She is my Baba Lours. And I need her.