After years of lusting, I can finally afford my dream car... albeit secondhand

Yes, it’s a Jag, but still – Frieda Hughes’ new car is both secondhand and delivered covered in layers of mud and rainwater

F-Type

My new second-hand car

Was delivered in a coat of everything on the road

From sodden Welsh fields via Bristol,

On another day of our eternal damp

And a night of snow and drizzle.

But beneath the mud slick black paintwork

Lies an engine that could be named after

A discontinued vegetable drink.

I used to fantasise about brake horsepower ratios

When perusing showrooms of show ponies

That had price tags

So far above my head that I couldn’t reach,

Even if I stood on tiptoe

On the roof of my old Jag.

But time passed, and the years

Lowered the bar until finally, now,

The age of the car

Has diminished its financial weight

And I can rehome all those horses

Round at my place.