When we were dating,
my husband had a 1957 Rambler.
All our friends were envious
because the back of the front seat
reclined to meet the back seat.
It wasn’t a genuine bed
but, we were teenagers,
and it was the next best thing.
And, honestly, I’m too tired
tonight to write anything decent.
This poem is going nowhere
unlike us when we’d go parking.
P.S. There is no way
I’m going to get avenge in here!
Hope the rest of you
Are doing better than me.