Hands on the wheel, no spill, no fuss. Take it to the races,
all the aces shining. Clock ticking on the ink of the morning
news, it’s all gone electric.
What happened to all my boys, laughing long into the night,
full of the juice of runway youth? Riding together in a
rocket-faced Ford, footprints on the inside of the the windscreen,
passenger side. Remember how we recoiled when you told us how they
got there? Head between speakers in the back seat, wasted,
Brainstorm, distortion, bliss. King joker, TV repair man, chauffeur,
hot in pursuit of a thrill or just the nearest exit out of there.