ODE TO ROLAND

Your sewing machine's on the blink.
It 'pears that you're smooth out of luck.
So, coins to mechanics you plink;
The same as my ol' pickup truck.

His bed's to capacity loaded.
The groan of his springs makes me weep.
The junk in the bottom's corroded.
I named my truck Roland Trash Heap.

But nary a wreck have I suffered
Those other cars' drivers stay 'way.
The space 'tween us stays real well buffered.
Those "whiskey bumps" keep them at bay.

So me and ol' Roland are yoked up.
When the price of a new one's compared,
My budget's invariably choked up.
Whatever gets broke, gets repaired.

So if you're debating a swap now,
Or sweepstakes are promising you one.
Just take your machine to the shop, now...
It's harder to break in a new one.

Despite all the glamour and glistenin'
The price of replacement is dear.
Them new ones ain't even worth christenin',
But the feel of an old friend brings cheer.