Long Oldsmobile Poems

At first, it wasn't my father's Oldsmobile.
Then, there came a longing for a new identity
with an invasion of one morphing after another.
Next thing I knew, there was 'no' Oldsmobile.
It seems that so many things started...

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Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade, 
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat, 
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel...

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Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.


PART 1

the highway's double line snakes in 
and out of my headlights
they searchlight...

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There once was a popular car commercial that stated, "This is not your father's oldsmobile".  The manufacurer was proud to have built a better car. I don't know if it was better, but after...

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This is a story poem. I call, ALL FOR THE LOVE OF BETSY

ILL start this little story by asking a question,what is love?
They say there is all kinds of love.
This story is about a new...

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Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.

Part 2

act three

in the third act delirious 
the laws of physics etc.
he coughs...

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I used to think the long smoke filled tables of NA were the answer.  
The stalks of faces nodding with my inflection,  up up down downs left left right. 
Like a goddamn contra...

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-

I crossed the road in front of a red 1947 Oldsmobile. Horns 
honking throughout the city. She sounded young and free on the 
phone when she called last night. Not meaning to clip the wing...

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Last Minute

The old lady went to the thrift store. 
She found the row of coats, 
and looked for just the right tags. 
The color of the day. 
She bought everyone that she could afford. 
There...

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An old man in a tweed jacket stopped by to die
I had never met him before, and had wondered why
My sister and me were lured by candy in his pocket
He showed us a watch and...

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I am behind
the large white wheel of an Oldsmobile.
I am a page ripped from a Raymond Chandler novel.
Clipped words curl close to my lips as hot as ash.

Dreamy eyes are cold tonight, there will be...

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We paddle through small talk,
I like her, she has style.
I imagine we have a history together
back in an old movie that I have yet to see.

I begin to construct a lost and anecdotal life.
In another...

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My 442 Oldsmobile was the hottest car around
No sexier red thing besides lipstick could be found.
When you pressed on the medal, that baby flew down the road.
When you were inside her, you were no longer...

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(I got the idea for this poem when I was watching a TV show yesterday.)

Because of a roadhog, my son is dead.
He was only fifteen and now he has no more years ahead.
I was trying...

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Two birds like mischievous teens
skipping, giggling as they cross
the pumps, dodging car scenes
through the oily and Oldsmobile dross.

Scoundrels living loud in their little world
chirping along, rippling through grime,
gabbling as they kick the can, twirling
and uttering...

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The sound of us breathing heavy, the windows of the Oldsmobile sweating as I worked my hands up your shirt. The beads you got in New Orleans. Venturing beyond the tan line. Feeling the softness...

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