New Car

I feel so good in my new car.
It's german or maybe japanese.
I don't know, I don't even care,
but I love the smell of it,
the bright clean whiff of vinyl
and plastic, the thin sheets
of metal wrapped so tight
and sexy around the frame,
those thick black tires grabbing
the road like tiger's claws.
It's so slick. Like me. So shiny
and fast, so cutting edge.
I've got six on the floor, a V six
under the hood. I could drive
around all day in a car like this,
the top up, the top down,
maybe a cigarette in my hand,
but I don't smoke, so maybe
a pen in case I need to jot down
a new poem, or an important
note. I could have a friend ride
with me, a big buxom blonde
perhaps, or a skinny brunette
with big dark sunglasses and
a kerchief on her head like a
movie star. I've got an eight
changer cd, with nine speakers,
I've got navigation, GPS,
leather seats that warm my
rear end at the touch of a button.
I've got a no hands phone. I've
got control of the AC, front
and back at my fingertips. I'm an
astronaut in this car. This car is
making me woozy, making me
happy, making the people who
see it happy. I think I'll put my
coffee cup into the cup holder.
Oh yeah. That's what I'm talking
about. Be jealous, go ahead.
Maybe I'll take you for a ride,
if you're lucky. Wipe your feet
before you get in. Buckle up, and
hold on, the light's about to change.