Galaxie 500
Galaxie 500
Teenage boys pile into the rusted and dented
maroon sedan from another time.
The 292 with mechanical lifters comes to life with the rasp of a muffler
whose days are more than numbered.
Sounds of freedom and rebellion bellow from a stolen 8 Track.
Time to escape the mundane…
Time to push the limits of consciousness and sanity.
As we drift the airborne car comes down with a crash — steering hard avoids a tree.
The smell weed, beer, burnt oil and rubber fill the air.
Once again we have landed and are back to the past.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
