Shiny Blue Car

I bought a sports car the other day,
got a good deal, not much to pay.
The engine had that deep-throated sound,
the shiny blue color turned heads around.
I looked the young salesman right in the eye,
said I was so happy I was about to cry.
He shook my hand, gave me a smile,
what a nice young man, such warmth and style.

Three days later I cried some more,
because parked in the drive, just outside my door
is a shiny blue heap of nuts and bolts
that lurches and coughs and sputters and jolts
when I drive it through my neighborhood.
My closest friend advised that I should
call the young man who sold me the car
explain that the beauty didn’t go very far,
that I’d return the loose parts in a brown paper sack
when I get my refund, all my money back.

When I called, I was told that the salesman was fired
because he had cheated, lied and conspired
to dupe honest buyers who came to the store:
“Sorry,” I heard, “he’s not here anymore.
By the way,” I was told, “if you read the fine print
you’ll see that your money, every penny you spent,
cannot be returned, refunded to you
unless there’s an earthquake in Lime, Peru
in a calendar year ending in “2”.”

Well, I’ve had time to think this through,
and there’s really not much I can say or do.
But, trust me, I’ve learned a lesson or two.
Let me pass my new wisdom on to you.
A car, a house, whatever you buy
promise yourself you will always try
to not be persuaded by Chrisma’s lure
for there’s one thing of which I am perfectly sure:
I overlooked Character when buying that car.
I bought a smile, a wink, a shooting star
and what I got, to be exact,
is a shiny blue car in a brown paper sack.