1950 Studebaker Champion

People seem to like my nose.
I guess it's 'cool'.
Shiny, rounded, like a bullet
Or an airplane tip.

My body is red, blotchy,
Sadly showing my age.
Lotta miles on this old girl.
Forgive the creaks and groans,
The wheezes and coughs too.
You'll be this way,
When you're sixty-eight.
Don't roll your eyes child.

The stories I could tell
Of those good ole days.
I can just see it now:
The stylish cars,
The classy people,
The spiffy fashion,
The hopping music,
The happy families.
America's Golden Years,
When all were happy
And everything was perfect.
Or so one would think.
Y'all don't listen to your elders
Or learn from our mistakes.
History tends to repeat itself.
I've been around the block a few times
And can attest to that.
But I digress, child.
Come I don't bite.
Take a look, at my heart, at my scars,
And see my story.