Mr. Mechanic

I wrote this poem to my mechanic many, many years ago in the late 70's. It was kind of a running joke between us. He'd fix one thing on my '65 Ford Galaxy, and something else would go wrong. Anyway, he got a big kick out of it. I was surprised to find out that he kept it all these years.

Won't someone please answer
My most desperate plea.
My car is rebelling;
Revolting against me.

I turned on the engine
But then nothing occurred.
It rumbled and jiggled;
It puffed smoke and it whirred.

I rolled down the window
But outside it fell.
The transmission sounded
Like the demons of hell.

I reached out for the clutch
Put it into first gear;
Imagine my surprise
As it moved to the rear.

The steering wheel I turned
Moving it to the right
But instead it went left
Giving me quite a fright.

I stepped on the brakes
So the car would not move
But it kept on going
Like it was in a groove.

I turned the radio
Hoping for some sound.
Instead I felt cold air
Flowing all around.

I pushed on the headlights
So at last I could see
What was going on
Outside and around me.

I stepped on the gas
But stopped dead in my tracks
No matter what I try
In the reverse it acts.

I suspect that my car
Must have something to say.
Can someone please translate
So I can get on my way.

I beg you repairman
Do whatever's required
So I can get to work
Before I get fired.

I'll pay you, I promise
If you'll just make it work.
And don't tell my father
Or he'll be a big jerk.

He thinks that a woman
Can't take care of things
Without making mistakes
Or pulling some strings.

I know we can fix it
With you right by my side.
To offer clear vision
And a hand as a guide.

Please help me, I beg you.
My dignity's at stake.
Along with all women
Who just need a fair break.

I'll bake you some cookies;
Bring you coffee each day.
Please, Mr. Mechanic,
Make my woes go away.