Thursday, November 13, 2008

My Other The Car

After I dreamt last night

that I was this awesome cool polished revved up sleek turbocharged waxed motherfucking Mustang speeding through cool autobahn air,

who went wherever he wanted to go – he thought – but feared he sometimes really was out of the control of his own destiny, as if he were being hijacked by some horny hotshot honcho headed nowhere,

who feared he would pull up empty at the next filling pump and there would be no more gas money on his card since the market crashed and he didn't know what to do if that happened, and he would end up on the roadside with "will carry passengers for gas" on his hood,

who feared a goddamn thief would break in and steal his registration and title and papers and gas card PIN,

who feared that some internal part – valve piston crankshaft bearing – would blow and it would cost a door and a wheel to get that fixed,

who feared that his pretty profile would be depreciated by time and wear and he would be left fanless,

who watched his buffed body get more battered rattled dinged rusted and feared growing old with that old car smell and finally being towed away to the heap,

I woke up exhausted
and was glad it was just a dream.

for read write poem prompt #52: face your fears ...

inspired by "My Mother The Car" (1965-1966, 30 episodes, [opening theme]), considered to be the worst TV sitcom of all time

and Allen Ginsberg ("HOWL")