The Old Snowmobile

“The Old Snowmobile”
The old snowmobile
Under a roof
In a garage
Complains of things
To himself
Loud motor
Pained joints
Obnoxious riders
Tipping over
Suddenly stopping

He imagines
A place
In the world
Where he can
Be free
In snow, of course
Driving himself
No obnoxious riders

He flies through
White, silent snow
Quiet, purring motor
Fresh, red paint
Until
A key is jammed
Into his neck
As his motor
Roars to life
And his dream
Drifts away
Once again.