Riding the Reptile

the 2014 ford shelby mustang GT500

Riding the Reptile

“The process of perception is an aesthetic end in itself,

& must be prolonged.”--Viktor Shklovsky.

Believe me, I am content to be your passionate paramour,

                                                  your ferocious lover,

                                                  your beautiful bitch, and yet

at the same time to be so ripped,

                                     so pumped,

                                     so musclebound, that I am also

           your genuine BMF,

           your road companion

           your chick magnet, &

           your for-real time machine.

Five decades ago, you rode my cousins,

                                      drove my brothers, 

                                      dry-humped my Mama,

              & fingered my Father, at a time when

your own sculpted muscles

needed no props or projections, & I forgive you

                                       for bailing out on us when the herd

                              became weaklings, clowns,

                   & Indian paintbox chuckles.

                   Our love affair today,

         after such a long separation

is hotter than ever

         as now I am both your crotch rocket & friend,

                    fully accepting all the quirks

                                 & perks about each other.

I have no trouble scoffing at the folks

who see me as only mindless muscle,

just a 21st Century robotic clone,

a growling, purring reminder

of those big block days when

pretty women would ask,   “Why do you need to have all

                       that power?” then smile sweetly & ask,

                   “When can I have a ride?”

You definitely did your research, man,

       & I can dig it, so glad

       you understand & appreciate my attributes, &

                    at 50K-60K on my price tag, I am pleased

                    you can finally afford me. So

                        my 662 horsepower 5.8 liter V-8

rumbles exhaust notes to die for,

                        my six-speed manual transmission

with OD has a stiff clutch, but not too tough that your honey

can’t compress me, & hey, 

                        my 15 mpg gas consumption

is modest yet serviceable--

                        my front seats mold to your butt

like mink-lined driving gloves,

                        my retro-dash keeps nostalgia stoked,

& when you punch it

                        my acceleration is all G-Force.

Yeah, we both know that like with any relationship,

there is an accommodation factor to consider;

                        my tiny back seat is ridiculous,

with room for an umbrella & briefcase. 

        I have no rear view camera,

                   no side curtain airbags,

                   no telescoping steering wheel,

                   no smooth ride, what with my solid axle

design & very stiff suspension, hopping a bit after a bump, &

                         my rear tires perhaps are not wide enough;

        but hey, cops like to use us as

        pursuit vehicles, I have lots of trunk space, & when

                   you slide into gravel my steering remains stable.

Sometimes I catch you staring at my

sexy rearing Cobra emblems, & you miss

                    the old silver galloping stallion, but

I want you to know,           I am your pony & your rapid reptile.

Even though there are days

when your wife seems envious of our fellowship--

rest assured, Steve McQueen would understand.

He’s probably got three of us

in his celestial garage. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

Would you like to hear the author read this Defamiliarization Poem to you?