You have to see the new ‘vette—
it’s low and long, like the prow of a boat.
Sitting in it is like being in a deep mouth with the roof off
it’s soft, sensuous,
and when women slide into the seat
it holds their asses like a demanding lover
and the hood slides away
between the two fenders that curve up and out like fantasy breasts
and the rear window curves down
around behind your head like a big hand
and the trunk sits up higher than the pendulous fenders.
The men deny all this
and say the fenders are legs
around the body as you sit between them
and the rear is raised up in the air like an offering.
Somehow, it sounds the same.
It’s all about sex.
It growls like the earth before an eruption—
he laughs when he revs the engine, looks at me
and raises his eyebrows twice
in a “wanna go for a ride, cutey?” kind of way
and when he ‘punches it’ around a corner
the car takes off like an unleashed star,
he grips the wheel through the turn
just holding on and letting the computer do its thing
and he soars off
to where trust and power meet
in the immediate moment.
—from Rattle #24, Winter 2005