Steel and smoke and rubber
I never seem to recover
from the relentless hum
of the auto industry.
I dream of chrome and
shark-finned cars, white
upholstery seducing the
taupe convertible top
to open and close
relentlessly depending
on the weather. See,
mostly it rains. Where
smoke and steel and rubber
go, rain will follow.
The exhaust fumes kiss
the asphalt this all
can only end
in vintage heartbreak.