our cars, how hard we worked
on them,
made
them faster,
the hood up on a Saturday
with points
and plugs,
keeping them clean
and waxed.
the car was everything back
then.
the cruising around
the block,
into town, through
Hot Shoppes,
slowing down with the music
loud,
wanting to be known,
to be seen.
strange to see the same
car today,
still purple
with tattooed flames,
rusting in our parent's
driveway,
up on blocks,
surrounded
by weeds.
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