The Last Muscle Car
Early morning on the second day
of our romance, watching the dawn’s
raspberry rays dancing
over its long hood
and down its sexy fastback,
it stunned me;
my 1973 Mustang,
muscled black on black,
resting buff on white raised-letter radials
and chrome magnum wheels—
its highly polished sleekness stretched skin-tight
over thick channeled Detroit steel.
Pantara-bred sprinting down
narrow city streets, I had to
constantly reign it in;
its nostrils flaring
and hooves hammering,
as I caught wondrous sun-kissed
glimpses of it gliding
across the faces of buildings,
slicing like a hammerhead,
slipping arrogantly
through schools of lesser vehicles.
At twilight I became overcome
with euphoria, dropping down
through the darkness of tall concrete
in my raven black cruiser,
scattering leaves with my thick tires,
embracing the stardust winking deep
into its ebon wax.
Glenn Buttkus
April 2010
Posted over on dVerse Poets-MTB
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13 comments:
Glen: The Last Muscle Car - Wow! What a car! The language is muscular and sensuous, and the car becomes a living, breathing thing. So evocative of youth, of invulnerability and passion for life. Really a magical poem.
Lynne
now this is REAL love..a man and his car..you should see me smile..muscle black on black..sleekness stretched over thick channeled detroit steel...and the ebon wax....super-sexy...smiles
dude i would love to have one...i have never had a sports car....but would def want one of the old muscles....that rumble....
Dear Glenn: Is at a Boss 302 or 390, or 429 asks Len. This is super sex on wheels Glenn...so much of a romance I feel cheated.
Love the big bad muscle of days gone by. had a boy once that had a barracuda...needed a screw driver to start her up...and i am ashamed to admit that was all it pretty much took to start me up ;)If it had have been a mustang...probably would not have survived it!
My brother built this as a model car and my mother painted it. He ran his hands over it like a boy in love.
If I remember correctly, the mill was
a 351 Cleveland; would smoke them
up like a striped ass ape.
Awesome write, Glen! I had a 69 442, and wish I could get it back!
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/its-awfully-quiet-in-here/
Great write...I loved my first car only it wasn't a muscle car more of a cute little motor... an old Hillman Minx... says it all really!
Very cool. Love the different stance on the prompt. I'm almost embarrassed to say my first car was a ford mustang, but it was the furthest thing from muscle, heck it had a hatchback lol Awesome depiction here, love the seeing the car off the sides of buildings, have always been fascinated by that effect no matter the car I was in. Great job. Thanks
Recently in Florida a friend just finished reworking a torino with a 420 cobra jet in it. It screamed. Was nothing I had never driven before; raw power. I never understood his fascination with old cars until I drove this beast. Great poem.
That sounds like a hot car. These are my favorites:
"watching the dawn’s
raspberry rays"
"its highly polished sleekness stretched skin-tight"
"embracing the stardust winking deep into its ebon wax"
"it’s nostrils flaring" (you shouldn't have an apostrophe here)
I always had this love/hate affair with cars. At times, it was like a guilty desire that I did not wish to confess existed inside me. But it's there, I can tell, and I'd go some way to own a souped up, crisply responsive engine. Of course, even in the resistance one needs fast wheels to outrace the machines, don't we? Great poem Glenn. I really enjoyed, guilty and otherwise!
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