Muscle
by George Bilgere
One minute
I’m standing in the parking lot
behind the De Anza theater. We’re throwing our empties
at each other, our smokes turning a whiter
shade of pale.
The subject is horsepower,
and the cars we’re leaning on
are Cougars,
Mustangs, GTOs.
Now and then we rumble off
and back again
for no particular reason.
Just to hear the anger, basso profundo,
from a 389 V8, as rendered
by a righteous pair of Hooker headers.
When suddenly,
through a dirty, underhanded
trick of time, I’m turning gray
at a table in front of Starbucks.
Sipping a latte, talking mortgage
with a woman I seem to be married to.
A silly little Prius
scoots by without a sound,
followed by a bleak Insight.
Copyright © George Bilgere
Posted over on Ploughshares
1 comment:
In '65 I drove to L.A. in a Simca, a little french car version of a FIAT (40 mpg) several times during the night ride a "muscle car" would roar past my 55 mph ride at about 80 mph. The same Barracuda. Several times. I was actually getting there at the same time if not sooner.
Decided to use the money saved for real estate.
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