it's rare to hear
a car back fire anymore.
or to see
a man out under his car
changing the oil,
or with a wrench in his hand,
the hood up, cursing
the tight bolt.
we don't work on our
cars anymore.
they are sleek computers
on rubber wheels.
we gas them up, but someone
does
all the dirty work for us.
we get in and go.
we don't even need a map
anymore.
we drive through the car
wash, extra wax please.
the car tells which direction
is best.
soon there will be no need
to even drive at all, or park
them.
we can sit in the back seat
and make out with our sweethearts,
just like we did in the good
old days. take me home,
James.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment