argy bargy
hey little rich boy
getting back
to business as usual,
a miniature galaxy of soundscapes
thumping back and forth
between the oi! of my brain
and the hip hop of my tongue.
the bassline still thumping back and forth
as my creaking car axles
do an electric slide,
the treble deciding to assert itself
as my peel-plastic steering wheel
spins faster than a high-tech turntable
my seat reclines into a backseat moshpit
-and all my friends have gone home.
the music of my youth
rested somewhere in the fruited plain
between the hip hop of my tongue
and the oi! of my brain.
now, i am left wondering if
that car died prematurely,
perhaps, even,
if it died in vain.
