Car Carnival
!
Dedicated To:
M.K., J.D., D.J., B.B.
!
!
What wonders!
For hours at a time, they lure our curiosity.
Each displays an eccentricity of design no longer dreamed.
In their aggregate called a show,
they are a tableau to fill a vacant lot,
Until the traveling rodeo rides back in with a Whoop!
!
Men beautify these wrecks into beauts,
Reglaze them with the colors from a jumbo box of crayons.
Waxed to perfection, they are kissed by the sun
Where it is always too hot, the cloudless sky washed out.
Those who wielded their tools plumb tinkered out,
They are show offs from their folding chairs only.
!
Their wives left behind in the shade,
They fold their arms, their teeth biting jerky or a chew.
Why is my cowardly self not cowed?
Cars annually morphing shape,
And those absurd adornments, like the fins of a shark,
Such fascinations beckon like a barker.
!
Are these cars not art?
Look at the hood ornaments, ever so clever.
In the abstract, they are so suggestive of wings.
See my favorite, the delineated sculpture of a Brave,
His head feather flowing backwards as if blown.
Surely, he is the patron saint of inordinate speed,
!
And someone to dream of, emulate, become.
I espy on a front seat, the place of honor,
An electric guitar from the 50’s or 60’s, restored.
It is an instrument for music like a rocket,
One that jettisons the highway for the mind’s way,
Imagination, brighter than a Milky Way of stars.
!
Hear what is in your ear,
But don’t look down to see beneath the hood.
Notice how it is sometimes propped with a fanciful stick.
It is meant to keep the maw from snapping shut
And hiding automotive secrets, the how to lore of real men,
All of whom are mechanics at heart.
!
Explain the immaculately laid out workings,
Shirred of dirt, now so easy to see and explore,
And join the male club (a bud in good standing).
As for me and the likes of me? Lost in the stars,
Daydreaming: We be the star lighters.
To others? Just plain dumb, a species of illiterate,
!
Without a hoist to their horse, so to speak.
They make a face, twirl their thumbs.
Ho-Hum.
!
!
Steven Golden
Green Valley, AZ
March 14th-16th, 2025
stevengoldenpoetry 