- on February 7, 2016
- Poetry
Nobody would be likely to steal my old Chevy truck, I guess.
Unless they were a fucking idiot. Which is quite possible around here.
Smashed, dented, broken, and leaking everywhere.
It is impossible to start, and even more difficult to keep running.
Unless you know the combination of moves required.
To make the ancient smoking motor roar and growl.
Sure as hell not something they teach you in school.
You learn it all the hard way, by doing it yourself.
People frown on that sort of thing today.
Claiming how unsafe old vehicles are…
“No daytime running lights? No anti-lock brakes?
No airbags? No low tire pressure light?
Call the police, the governor, the president!”
Not trusting what they don’t understand
Modern life is built on fear of everything
From bug bites to flat tires, old cars and grease fires
Then you have the ridiculous new cars and trucks…
With safety features galore, and cup holders
Up the wazoo, along with back up cameras, DVD
Players, speed sensors, and cars that park themselves
Hell, there’s probably a sensor that knows when you fart
So it can roll down the windows and crank the AC
But, it’s all just a flashy, computerized trap
You can talk to your Aunt Mabel in Ohio
Just speak clearly into your dashboard, and
You can hear all about the boils on Uncle Carl’s ass
While you laugh, and then crash… fatally
Into a huge gravel truck that didn’t even feel you
Mashing yourself and the family into
bloody pulp on his bumper, or better yet,
shaving the roof off your robotic, hypnotic,
super safety machine, along with your heads
While Aunt Mabel drones on about corn prices
Your car will call the police so that they can
Come scrape what’s left of you and your
Technologically advanced family
Off of route 49 because you got fooled
Meanwhile a drunk guy in an old truck
Backs into a telephone pole, maybe even
Knocks it down then laughs and
Drives away without a scratch.
Damaged Skull Writer 