Smooth Machine
A million pounds of polished steel,
A million pounds of torque-fat thrust,
A thousand miles of plushest leather,
A tricky clutch you can not trust.
My cab is like a tiger shark,
As smooth as milk, as black as night,
The headlight's flash, the backseat's large,
Big enough to host a fight.
And when you grab my steering wheel,
Be sure to watch out for my stick,
From first to fourth then overdrive,
Mach I, or II, you take your pick.
Before and After the Roadshow
I was sitting behind a cigar
That spoke with smoke
In clouds of political passion
In a yellow cab, checkered taxi
On route to the roadshow
It told me not to pay attention
To their threats of yet another
Gasoline tax. I listened, and
Responded in kind, since
I was going to the roadshow
It demanded some money, and
I fed it, just enough to make it think
I rarely spoke with cigars about cars
And property tax and crooked mayors
When on my way to the roadshow
As I left, a face emerged, from the stench
And stink of that burning hunk of rope
It was me, thirty years from now
Driving four cylindars for a living
A long long way away from the roadshow
Con Carne
On the road between Damascus and Tipperary
Where Kingdom Come meets No Man's land
I ran out of gas. My fat bastard Ford deposited me
At a taco stand that sold everything con carne,
I asked the man, a woman with a bearded chin,
And the little boy playing with a broken doll
Where the nearest watering hole for my broken Ford
Was to be found on this good for nothing stretch
Of forgotten abandoned ignored useless highway.
They told me I could walk a hundred miles that way,
Or two hundred miles if I wanted to go the other way,
Or they would sell me a half gallon of gas if I bought
Two tacos con carne with no tomatoes and extra cheese.
I said yes, fed my Ford, and off I drove, until
The tires popped, one by one, in the direction of
The two hundred mile gas station.
My asshole Ford finally said no more
Next to a cactus and venus flytrap stand that sold
Everything con carne.