Chevy

Chevy

Ratchet turning to the left

taking off the valve cover,

scraping off the gasket

with a putty knife.

Thinking of Tracy while

putting on the new.

Underneath the monolith,

draining the life blood – oil,

new filter.

Up top, adjusting the carburetor,

right mixture of fuel and air.

Where did I put her phone number?

Closing the hood, and wiping off smudges,

looking her over, and starting her up,

glass pacs on the exhaust roaring,

mag wheels jumping, ready to rumble.

Does she like me?

There was no time for peace,

too busy looking cool or trying,

it was all about power and speed.

Revving, pushing the clutch in,

taking it out of neutral, putting it in

first gear,

then stomping the gas pedal.

Wheels spinning with smoke,

incredible noise and power,

fishtailing, dragster.

Should I take her to the movies?

It was 1976.

 

 

 

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

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Baltimore

Baltimore

The 2 inch plastic soldiers died,

terrible deaths, off the back porch,

or by being crushed with rocks.

Some medieval knights perished too,

on a regular basis.

Throwing my baseball against a wall,

and through the neighbor’s window,

is about the worst thing I ever did.

Row after row of houses, hopeful,

strong with brick, working hard.

Foundations. Italians and Poles,

and everybody else,

so close you could smell the sausages,

cooking on Sunday.

Mrs. Di Paulo cooking with limburger

cheese again.

I ride by on my bike in the alley,

Norman Wells playing Johnny Cash,

over and over again, A Boy Named Sue,

Folsum Prison,

somewhere Janis Joplin

singing her heart out,

at least she was alive then.

I never knew Jimi Hendrix

until later. It was the 1960’s.

 

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree