I started a daily poetry prompt Twitter feed: @PoemADayPrompt, and here's the first draft of my first poem for it. (The prompt was to write a poem using the words yellow, clover, and engine.)
She loved that truck, small, yellow, with a sunroof, of all things. It was her second car, and the first she'd bought for herself. A thousand dollars. A year of saving her tips, her minimum wage, her sharp tongue, grace. That truck taught her how to feel a car, because of no power steering, (her arms got strong) because of a loose clutch, (she can take hills like a pro) and now she can tell when the transmission is getting loose, can feel when an engine just isn't right. She's a city girl, from a small city, in the Southern California Land of Cars, where walking just isn't a thing, and fields of clover only exist on the median,, and she's older now, can afford decent cars can afford to pay people to get up under her car, tinker with things, make them run smoothly, but she still thinks back on the days when she lay on her back in the driveway, oil and sparkplugs close to hand, the gapper like a large coin, the currency of independence in a car culture, her way of saying, "Look, I'm good enough," of making boys surprised, and girls impressed, of taking care of the things she loves, because she can, and because it costs more for someone else to do it.