Land sharks patrol the roadways

roll their eyes

and stop a Plymouth

dead on 1.

Sweaty grim streets

take on dark evening sports.

Grid locked by endless canals of asphalt

I drive

then stop

to fall

(in sync)

on Red.

rearview mirror soap operas claim my attention

not to mention the skirts flirting for money...

("wanna party, honey?")

Along side

390 painted horses

rumble

pound

shine chrome

and tease...

-the Green.

A vulcanized scream and vaporized rubber

fills the atmosphere with a smoky blue velvet elixir

filtering the stoplight repertoire

of red, yellow, and green

as a curled wake of torn fabric neon night

crawls on my hood and begins to dream.

I stood

full throttle

in order to pursue

suspension showing me

an eleven-degree view

of the horizon.

I fight the wheel

shift

gear to gear

in desperate fear of losing her...

while she passes

I am caught

held

and let go

all by a blonde running a Chevelle.

(as she moves out of sight)

Tonight

I’ll climb the curb

race the stars

in my car.