351 Cleveland

image from motortrend.com

351 Cleveland

“They say you only go around once, but in a 

muscle car, you go around two or three times.”

--Tim Allen.

The first time that I

glanced out the kitchen window

and saw the raspberry

dawn’s rays dancing on its long

hood and down its raked fastback,

I was stunned by my

1973 Mustang, muscled

black on black, resting buff on

raised-letter radials and chrome

magnums, its polished sleekness

stretched skin-tight over

thick channeled Detroit steel.

On city streets and

fast lanes on the freeway, I

had to always rein it in.

I loved the glimpses

I would catch as it glided

across the cold face of

glass buildings. It was Pantara-

bred pumped iron. In traffic

it sliced like a shark

midst schools of lesser vehicles.

At twilight I would

drop down through the darkness of

tall trees in my raven cruiser,

scattering fat gravel,

with deep notched treads, embracing
the golden stardust

that winked deep

into is ebon wax.

Glenn Buttkus

Imagist poetry

Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub MTB