Maria Worton is a reformed Britisher who is one of Serai's editors and a performance poet. She lives and breathes on St.Urbain.

Dear Herr Doctor, I’ve only come to register
the fact that this shall be our last visit. You see.
since the last time we were bumper to bumper
I’ve had something of an epiphany. That’s right.
Reach for your pen and notebook, well you might.
My case is a landmark until recently out of sight.
It happened the other night when I awoke
choking and spluttering like never before
checking my dashboard with a start to read
that though it was light, it was only 4
in the morning. That I was a wreck.
My mind in a spin, turning over and over
until it flooded I tell ya, with one single thing:
That I was hard and I was complete
yet in possession of wheels where once I had feet.
By the way, is that your Mini parked out there?
Sorry about the dent. Though I am aggressive
aggressive these days, it frankly wasn’t meant.
(though I am part car, and God didn’t give me
bumpers for nothing ha ha.)
Ha! Well there you are. I’m overtaking myself.
I’ve gone too far… I’ve said it… I’ve said it:
I AM PART CAR…. PART CAR!
Aaah I know what you’ll say,
‘a rationalization, disassociation, fetishization, ’
And yet, I am happy this way.
Now don’t roll your eyes at me Doctor.
You’re kind of cynical, aren’t ya?
But without causing you pain I’d like to explain:
That if I were just me and not part car,
I couldn’t push a hundred miles an hour
(when once I felt pressed to go three).
You have to have a car to get from A to B because
without headlights and taillights it’s far too polluted to see.
While air-conditioning is not the only conditioning
it’s the only one for me.
Why, to walk down the street now is no more than pedestrian.
And with horses a thing of the past, there’s no hope for the equestrian.
Besides cars equal freedom Doc and nature at your feet.
Like a girl with her pony Doc, cars are hard to beat.
…And I do feel more loved, say what you will.
Life without car was the biggest pill.
(…Your mini out there, she’s a bit of alright.
…Fully manual, am I right?)
Now Doc I cruise, and where a heart used to beat
a catalytic converter chirpily cheeps.
It loves just a little and not too much
not too fem and not too butch. Fully roadworthy.
So I’ve made my peace with the oil industry.
Asphalted roads now make perfect sense
when caring for your chassis costs dollars nickels and cents.
With the military industrial complex I’ve made my pact.
I certainly have fewer qualms about the invasion of Iraq.
‘Don’t bite the hand that pumps her,’ you’ll read on my bumper.
It’s simply a case doc of friend or anima, friend or anima.
…Vroom vroom doctor have you something to say?
Your eyebrows are knit in a most provocative way.
You don’t believe me, do you? Then perhaps you’re in denial.
Or could it be you’re jealous of my interior style?
For it is I/Car, not you, that have fewer contradictions.
You think car serves you and a life that’s gotten faster
Forgetting the King of Speed is now lord and master.
These delusions of grandeur Doc simply won’t do,
you serve car, not it serves you.
You're such a stickler for the past, you do give me pause to think:
That from here to eternity must lie the missing link.
That a new kind of creature should inherit the earth.
With "reliability and affordability" as features to come first.
Then, if I am ever to leak oil in the public domain
or belch fumes and backfire with nothing to gain
I shall be forgiven and my age laid to blame.
For the same doctor you shall suffer
(though you are a good bluffer)
there is such a thing called social stigma…social stigma…
So there Herr! Though, ho ho, a motor mouth I am,
I’ve said all I have to say. I’ll just roll up my window, shall I,
and gently go away…honk honk beep beep crash wallop crunch…