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If your age is somewhat close to
mine and if you went to high school
somewhere in this U.S.A., will you
please let me hear you say
what a hot rod would bring to mind, a
hot rod in sunlight on this summer’s day,
a hot rod polished, parked, and pampered,
without its immodestly muffled V-8 churning,
without its tires screaming, burning,
without radio rock ’n’ roll blasting. It’s
about a hot rod in sunlight that I am asking: To
what midnight drive, what pal, what distant home,
are you transported by paint and chrome?
♦
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