Her armrest rumbled loose,
His maroon pride: “This is how a real engine sounds.”
Leather, dusty as an old man’s couch,
My eyes tighten against wheezy vents.
Second gear jabs my ears,
Throb of oxygen,
Teeth set stiff as a Cheshire cat,
Laughing at his trophy: “My brain hurts,
Where’s the window button?”
Air’s escape relieves some.
When her muffler grates
He ‘hi-fives’ his mates!
Vintage Prestige Vehicles
Are still old cars.
Leanne Margaret © 2015