she was a beauty in her day.
the gleam
of chrome,
the emerald paint,
how it shone.
white wall tires.
it was 1970.
the smell of pleated
seats, the roar of the engine.
the glass packs
and baby moons.
the dual exhaust.
the cowl
on the hood.
the dice hanging from
the mirror.
the radio on.
she was a beauty.
every year to the eastern shore.
how she rolled
smoothly, mile
after mile.
what was there about her
not to adore?
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