Friday, October 7, 2011
image borrowed from bing
Drive me to the edge in your Mambo Cadillac,
turn left at the graveyard and gas that baby,
the black night ringing
with its holy roller scream.
I'll clock you on the highway at three a.m.,
brother, amen, smack the road as hard as we can,
because I'm gonna crack the world in two,
make a hoodoo soup with chicken necks,
a gumbo with plutonium roux, a little snack
before the dirt-and-jalapeño stew
that will shuck the skin
right off your slinky hips,
Mr. I'm-not-stuck in-a-middle-class-prison-
with-someone-I-hate sack of blues.
Put on your high-wire shoes, Mr. Right,
and stick with me. I'm going nowhere fast,
the burlesque queen of this dim scene,
I want to feel the wind, the Glock
in my mouth, going south, down-by-the-riverside
shock of the view. Take me to
Shingles Fried Chicken Shack
in your Mambo Cadillac. I was gone, but I'm back
for good this time. I've taken a shine to daylight.
Crank up that radio, baby, put on some dance music
and shake your moneymaker, doll, rev it up to Mach
2, I'm talking to you, Mr. Magoo. Sit up, check
out that blonde with the leopard print tattoo.
O she'll lick the sugar right off your doughnut
and bill you, too, speak
French while she do the do.
Parlez-vous français? So, pick me up tonight
at ten in your Mambo Cadillac
Chile, Argentina, Peru. Take some time off work;
we're gonna be a lot longer than a week
or two. Is this D-day or Waterloo? White or black—
it's up to you. We'll be in Mexico tonight. Pack
a razor, pack some glue.
Things fall apart off the track,
and that's where we'll be, baby,
in our Mambo Cadillac,
cause you're looking for love,
but I'm looking for a wreck.
Posted over on the Writer's Almanac
"Mambo Cadillac" by Barbara Hamby, from All-Night Lingo Tango