by Bobby May |
She is a beauty her curves are sweet
I polish her each and every week
I love to turn her on and her motor runs just fine
When I stick my key into her ignition
My battery ignites my spark plugs and, with her permission
She distributes all of my pistons love
She moves them one by one
Using 5-20 oil lubrication is more fun
When I rev her RPM’s and the sound of her motor roars
If I rev her to high by pressing her accelerator her motor will blow
Then all the oil I placed into her will be dripping out of her
Then I will have to rebuild her and run her again
Using Higher temperature Oil
by Diaa Adel |
anger, desire, future, longing, lost love, pain, self,
In a stormy night in the Island of the Gods, he knew he lost,
He went out speeding up the gas to pass his anger,
The fear was released with the accelerator,
His wounds mount with every brake press,
Those trapped tears leak with the wind,
He drives on a slippery road, every time he feels the risk,
He reminds himself of his beloved family back home waiting for a phone call to cheer them up, and the anger he would face in all cases when he gets back home,
No escape whether he is back in one or few pieces, she won’t let it pass, but he knows he has to be back to her in the best possible shape,
So from time to time, she can shatter him the way she wants.
by Caren Krutsinger |
Lynette was attached to the ambiance of the seventies.
She had a shag rug with large loops and flecks of silver.
Bulb like globs floated in her six lava lamps.
She replaced her accelerator pedal with a weird bare foot pedal.
Her house featured peace signs, happy faces, and free love slogans.
My favorite piece was a Volkswagen bus planter that yelled “perky”.
But in actuality, I liked the entire set up – her car and her house.