Snigger

The car next door has not moved all week.

It sits on the verge, desolate, forlorn.

I put a notice on the windscreen under the wipers.

“I’m bored. Please take me for a drive’.

The lopsided moon sniggers.

The next day I hear its engine rev.

And off it goes sprightly as a mountain goat up the hill.

Who says writing doesn’t work?

When it gets home a few hours later it looks buff, glowing like my hair when you rub

argan oil into it