Image borrowed from BingJesus owes me a sportscar.
Blood red, wood-grain dash,
transmission hard as nails.
Call the CDC: we got a contagious heart, here.
The real money is in speeding tickets,
but I’ve always envied mechanics,
the coating of oil which allows the world to slide off,
the defiant stance of tunnel vision.
I never learned violin, but
my parallel parking can make Jesus weep.
He likes to ride shotgun.
He’s gonna pay for kicking the bucket seats.
C.L. Bledsoe
Posted over on Right Hand Pointing
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