NaPoWriMo #11: V8 Melody

The last wail of a dying breed,
a thunderous eight cylinder bellow
facilitated by perpetual ignition,
by the constant cranking of pistons
and the onslaught of fresh oil.

Yet the habitat of the V8 diminished.
The roads it roamed in ancient times
now infested by silent hybrids
and lifeless, whirring batteries,
imitations of the age of oil.

Perhaps it was inevitable.
To survive by guzzling and burning
fuel till the fumes choked the sky,
the eight pistons rattled along
until their sustenance evaporated.

On a few isolated country roads,
a distant roar can be heard
by those who stop and listen
for a rising and falling vibrato,
the final note of the melody.