Motorhead Myopia
growing up on Dukes of Hazzard
is not recommended
for a realistic view
of responsible driving
when my friends and I
were fifteen years old
we all snuck out
our parents’ cars
my mom had this powder blue
Plymouth Valiant
it was the most ordinary vehicle
on the planet
a slant 6
225
four doors
and no balls
at all
nevertheless
I’d take it out
on my ritual run
and make that baby squeal
up 12th across the bridge
a hard right along the creek
pedal to the metal
screeching through
every bend
maybe get it
up to 80
only a few
old people knew
but there was nothing
they could do
but shake their fists
on their lawns
then
returning it
to the garage
engine ticking
overheating
I’d dream of getting
my own V8
of taking it out
and topping out
at a hundred and twenty
that’s what we all
eventually did
an entire
testosteroned
generation
armed with an armada
of the prior decade’s
rustiest clunkers
beat El Caminos
shot Chevelles
lost LeManses
laying rubber
the quarter mile
four wheel drifting
spinning shitties
wiping out
all over the place
a really bad
combination:
teenage boys
muscle cars
& dollar four
gasoline
but strangely enough
nobody died
until our twenties
that’s when Greg Little
went into a turn too fast
flipped
corkscrewed
endoed
and smashed his head
dead in Wisconsin
should’ve happened years before
should’ve slowed us down before
I mean
we weren’t just following
Bo Luke Boss Hogg and Roscoe
we were following
a sick southern symbolism
like a swastika atop
the General Lee
we didn’t know
what it meant
we didn’t know
how to see.