My Classic Car Poem
Original poetry by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro
Please read along to my Spoken Verse Performance.
After nearly eight years behind a counter,
I felt that writing loans was becoming a downer.
While that time is recorded in pawn shop lore,
I've shifted my talents to a sports shoe store.
But after just two months of footwear installing,
I'm pretty sure I've accepted a higher calling.
But it's not like things couldn't be better,
More visibility could make us a record setter.
While our competition's neighbor is an Irish bar,
Ours is where you have to go to register a car.
But the traffic which visits the county clerk,
Make it tough to keep my mind on my work.
Yeah, the sweet things which occupy our parking spaces,
Make me suspect that we're in the best of all places.
But come on folks, remove your mind from the gutter,
Cause it's not the drivers which make my heart flutter.
When I place my gaze on their steeds of steel,
There's no debating that my love is real.
And it's not just me, cause others have to stop,
To check out the action in front of our shop.
Events such as this serve to make this jester play.
The ultimate example occurred just yesterday.
If you were there last afternoon, on Westport Lane,
You'd know why The King sang: "Kentucky Rain".
And while, to selling shoes, it can be quite a curse,
The inclement weather proved to not be adverse,
For recording an event via photography,
Which, for a car guy, bordered on pornography.
A Porsche 911 was the subject of the shoot.
An air cooled engine was in it's rear boot.
Of a powerful passion, we didn't have to pretend.
Because a Carrera 4 logo adorned the tail end.
To those who know, 964 was the model.
As sweet as anything you drink from a bottle.
To look upon produced a high, without a prescription.
"The color of an angel", was the owner's description.
Image Credit: Wood Bead Seat Cover from AutoBarn.net
He said he brought it in from Eastern Missouri,
To brave the rain, he must have been in a hurry.
If not for my damned employment obligations,
I'd have gladly chamoided off the precipitation.
But I'm calling dibs, should the owner not survive,
Because my cohort wants it for his daily drive.
With seat covers made of wooden beads, I suspect.
Hey, that Germanic beauty deserves more respect.
Old JC said it brought to mind "Miami Vice".
From the mirror, I bet he'd hang some fuzzy dice.
Yeah, the vibe would be different by the time he got through.
The vanity plate would likely read: 2COOL4U
So you feel such talk is like...defamation.
A nasty character attack which I should stop.
Well, allow me to quote from our conversation:
"I'd put peat moss in the trunk, and mount a bike rack up on top."
Now that's just wrong.
Yeah, the banter we enjoyed produced lots of smiles.
But that Porsche only had 39,000 miles,
Considering it was clad in four original wheels.
At $80K, it would have been one heck of a deal.
And today, as the Porsche we're still discussing,
We spy another car which reignites our fussing.
Here's an identity hint for that genuine throwback:
You could have any color, so long as it was black.
From Ford's second series off the assembly line,
The beauty there before us was indeed a rare find.
Made from steel, unlike today's coke can recycles.
The tires looked like they came off of motorcycles.
Thank god that classic cars are granted a waiver,
Cause I doubt it would enjoy the EPA's favor.
Of a test drive offer, Ralph Nader would pass,
In the absence of seat belts, or even safety glass.
As for radios and starters, there isn't a need,
Because vintage Model A's are cool at any speed.
But back in 1930, they used an hour glass,
To measure the duration of a quarter mile pass.
Now, what if Shelby had been there to make The A brawny.
There's no forgetting the way he transformed the Omni.
If Carroll brought his game to Ford, back in the day,
Model A sales would have soared, winning the SCCA.
But today, a Cherry Bomb would no doubt improve.
The throaty sound they make might enhance The A's groove.
But if the owner's smart, that's are far as he goes,
Lest he get excluded from all the classic car shows.
Getting back to the action in our strip mall parking lot.
The driver savored the attention which his car got.
But the smiles in the photos quickly came to an end,
Cause the owner had a hard time finding the VIN.
I'm concerned that you might get the wrong impression.
That our stock of classic cars doesn't get freshened.
There's a reason why recent models seen are fewer:
The luxury tax assessment for rides which are newer.
"Give to Caesar, what is Caesar's," say the words of Christ.
But yearly bills hurt when cars are six figure priced.
Surely our government would make an exception,
For this brand new Ferrari, so close to perfection.
When the owner returned with the insurance form,
The conditions were right for a perfect storm.
A pair of head turners, both painted in yellow,
Made me all too aware that I'm a lucky fellow.
A '55 Chevy Coupe was no doubt ready to race.
In it's day it would have ruled in the NASCAR chase.
Sweet alloy Cragar Wheels firmly held four Goodyears,
Narrow were the fronts, and much wider were the rears.
The inspector gave the Chevy's owner a hard time,
Because the left front light had a loose power line.
But while the asphalt was ablaze with afternoon heat,
The owner didn't hesitate to crawl up underneath.
Which gave me lots of time for a two door expose.
The camera on my cell phone was firing away.
But I have to admit, and yeah, it might sound perverse,
That my favorite classic car is a hot rod hearse.
Selling shoes in Westport Plaza is as good as it gets.
Cause a stream of cool cars is amongst the benefits.
To close this poem out, hey, you know I have tried.
So, until the next owner comes to register his ride...
Copyright © Michael Kimbro 2017. All rights reserved.
Keywords: Poems about Porsches, Poems about Fords, Chevrolet Camero, Rambler Rogue Convertible, Ford Thunderbird, Ferrari poetry, Odes about a 2-door Chevy, Automobile poetry.