Ode to a Fiat (Oops!)

Dad drove the Fiat to Cornwall.
Oops!
...and we were almost there!
Eager for our holiday,
before white smoke
billowed from the bonnet
and filled the motorway air.
Oops!

Dad broke the Fiat on the way to Cornwall.
Oops!
...and we were towed the rest of the way!
Eager just to get there,
before someone else
took the last hire car
and stranded us for days.
Oops!

Dad mourned the Fiat he drove and broke on the way to Cornwall.
Oops!
...and we were understandably unsympathetic!
Eager for a new toy,
before Dad could
forget the dead Fiat
and move on to something less aesthetic.
Oops!

Fathers' Day

My sadly lad, badly rad, mad bad Dad:
Sad, definitely. One word - trainspotting.
Lad, for sure the heart of one - goal potting.
Bad, never. Except "I've missed the train" fad.
Rad? You're pushing it! Embarrass-me-able!
Mad, depends. Unfathomable jokes, mind!
Bad, not to me. Anger, but always kind.
Dad? I think that one's unavoidable.
Ok, maybe I was being too cruel
to him. This is the part of the poem
when I am not meant to grumble or groan.
Sympathise with him - supporting me! Mule.
But mules do not love their master's hands,
a whip crack, driving on, to distant lands