Best Four On The Floor Poems
Like Moses fleeing Egypt
and finding refuge in Midian
I was a stranger in a strange land.
Having fled Chicago in ‘84
I journeyed east to the
unpromised land of Detroit.
8 Mile Road.
“I'm a man
I'm a make a new plan”
Eminem makes and takes the rap
while party stores and strip joints
pockmark the urban warscape.
“Super Lotto” “Beer and Wine”
“Liquor“ “Money Orders”
“We accept Food stamps”
“Girls, Girls, Girls”
9 Mile Road.
Driving north through Ferndale where
the Exiles of Gentrification live,
I was reminded of the sixties
and drag racing
stoplight to stoplight.
3-2-1-green
zero to sixty in three gallons
muscleheads in their muscle cars
dual quads, hemi-heads
bored and stroked, raked and shackled
four on the floor, two in the backseat
Jim Beam in the glove box
and fuzzy dice on the mirror.
Up ahead the Reuther crossed
where once a 10 Mile Road proudly served.
Named for a firebrand labor guy,
the freeway heads east out of Roseville,
veers south through Warren
then north and south again.
Torn up and re-built before it opened,
the 20 year in the making
gerry-meandering freeway
flows west around the Zoo
with a zig through Huntington Woods
and a zag through Lathrup Village.
11 Mile Road and electric
eclectic, engaging Royal Oak;
home of the Star Dream sculpture
Farmer’s Market and all things hip—
Just ask ‘em.
11 and a half Mile Road.
Art deco portico with garish neon,
never washed windows and
a pair of 69.9 a gallon pumps,
“No Gas” “No Gas”
Vinsetta Garage,
a Woodward fixture since prohibition,
is voted Motown’s best car repair
year after year after year.
12 Mile Road.
The National Shrine of the Little Flower,
de-flowered in the 1930’s
by radio Priest Charles Coughlin
whose coast to coast broadcasts
railed against bankers and Jews
and that communist FDR.
Like a journalist trying to find the
Who? What? Where? and why?
Like a little boy peering through a keyhole
I found myself in a Motor City funk
looking more than tasting.
There’s a clock on my wall
in the den – striking ten
as I slink down the hall -
simply remembering when
our passion was valid
and truthful
and honored
and sacred.
Now the clock strikes again
chiming four – on the floor,
a famous cherubim
writhes from the lash of my claw.
His flush face turns pallid.
He’s cringing there
duct-taped
and naked.
See my blood loom like lye
in a glass on your table.
So swig me and swill me -
there’s no warning label
to inform you of danger
when romance goes awry.
Your amorous arrows
belie.
Once again the clock strikes
singing eight – it’s too late
as I relive the likes
of a cursed crippled fate -
without legs to stand on
I’ll falter
and stumble
to then fall.
Six a.m.- dawn has cracked.
You may leave – please perceive
your silk bags are all packed
there’s no time to bereave
and before you’re begone -
take this clock,
as your gift,
from my wall.
My aorta grew cold
in a bowl on your table.
Now chew me and chomp me
and swallow when able.
Cupid’s retiring -
and his bow’s being sold;
his lackluster work
I’ve cajoled.
Written for and dedicated to
my loving Father: John M. Heck
01/18/1935 - 02/14/2003
Racing with the forces trying to keep ahead;
Missed some turns a while ago going straight instead.
The ghosts are out there watching shooting balls of fire;
I can see them as I’m passing singing like a choir.
The crock is shedding tears but its laughing liker a clown
Its face is in the windshield and I’m trying to run it down.
Don’t know much about a mother but life sure qualifies;
And you can keep those one room boxes down here in these mires.
Can’t imagine dropping anchor but sometimes I’ve slowed down;
Mostly when locked in loves embrace and listening for that sound.
Ahead I think I see it, an up and coming light
But it’s probably just the daylight that passes out the night
Fear
The shout of a man sitting at a table
He was collecting all bottles, and glass that he was able
I turned to my husband and said what do you think?
Some guys stood behind us and said "lets get a drink."
I moved to the side, I walked on past
The hairs on my neck were standing up fast
A feeling I knew washed over me
Something was happening and I didn’t want to see.
A guard with a gun, knocked me as he walked by
The guy at the table with the bottles wasn’t shy.
"Get lost, get away you can’t stop me flying
I know what to do without even trying."
My heart began to race, what is going on?
People are pushing and shoving then we could see he had a gun.
The fight starts there on the floor, two men with the glass and bottles
Two guards rush in, hands round throats trying to throttle
We hide behind tables, and chairs, we cannot escape
A gun slides up near making a noise like ripping duck tape.
It’s there at my feet- a hand reaches for it,
Is it a guard or a terrorist? I nearly have a fit.
A push in the back from a big burly guy
Shouts “Go on get stuck in, give it a try.”
"What the hell are you on about shut your mouth now"
There’s guns flying round and words I never heard- I vow
There are four on the floor kicking guns and screaming loud
Then a clicking of two feet, comes a short man from the crowd
He stands and he yells and they all do stop
He points and picks up the guns that they have not
He sorts it all out; the police come take them away
An announcement rings out
“Thanks for flying with us today.”
Based on a true event over thirty years ago in an airport in Gan Canary
Now and Then in 2017©
There was a time when I was younger
That there was this constant hunger
Time has passed and the years have flown by
Sometimes joy and laughter, sometimes a good cry
Vows kept under the stars we met
A grandson that keeps me young without regret
Where once I had a great left hook
I now rely on Facebook
I could compete at a track meet
What I do now is Tweet from my seat
In lieu of at the rink with my team
I’m Linked In to the latest dream
Before, at the diamond with a bat
After, I share the world with Snap Chat
Amazon was a great river in Brazil
Now an eCommerce site with a bill
Past, hanging out at the mall looking for chicks
Present, replaced by watching Netflix pics
It used to be four on the floor
Instead my best friend is an I Phone more
Many hours once spent polishing chrome
Replaced by Google Chrome in your home
Parallel parking used to be a real pain
My car parks by itself again and again
At the pumps no more
The car is electric and less a chore
I find myself often saying
Is there an “app” for that, and then playing
In conclusion I have no dilution of days gone by
The days of yore are long gone and I’m on standby
To give it all a try
Andreas Simic©
Green Gremlins were all the rage in nineteen seventy-four.
I am not talking about creepy fat-headed full bellied tiny beings.
I am talking about cheap cars with a V-8 and four on the floor.
Everyone had one, so common, most of us were tee-heeing.
Painted a variety of colors, and riding in them made you kind of sore.
We wore hip hugger bell-bottoms and had a hippie-like look.
This was in ’74, and believe it or not, this is no folk lore.
If you do not believe me, just look up a Gremlin in a picture book.
I remember my Mustang the year '64
Fire engine red with four on the floor
Wheels with spinners, new at the time
Manual AC, truly devine!
Racing police, zippin past Vets
Mustang Sally, GOOD AS IT GETS!
Four on the floor
One in the air
A woof when she talks
A growl if she's sore
A paw pat for attention
A wet nose for a kiss
A whack on the leg
If her message you miss.
Watch out for my Hellcat Hemi,
It's got four on the floor and more.
Oh how it squeals on big chrome wheels,
You should hear that engine's roar.
It comes alive at 185,
You can bet it'll rule the day.
So bring your car and money jar,
When you want to come out and play.
It's no phony with all those ponies,
Just homegrown muscle for sure.
Ain't no pills to prevent your ills,
The disease without a cure.
With that Devil Cat on my side,
I've got the hottest ride around.
Don't try your luck with car or truck,
Cause I'm Hell on wheels and Hellbound.
Back and forth
in a swing
from one old tire.
One old tire
becomes a two wheeler
up and down the street.
A two wheeler
becomes four on the floor
riding around town.
Four on the floor
becomes two wheels
on front of a walker.
A walker
becomes a wheelchair
up and down the halls.
A wheelchair
becomes a rocker
rocking back and forth.
Four on the Floor
Lying between primes 3/5/7
4x4 cube drives over
waka, haiku, senryu, tanka,
to chime, sublime eloquence.