Array ( [sid] => 179401 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => No Wax? No Problem. [time] => 2014-10-05 07:59:45 [hometext] => A musing on the nature of people [bodytext] =>

Cars fairly dipped in wax so shiny liquid
the colour invites a drink;
“Some protectorant there”, methinks-
a life and not a scratch,
not a thatch or dimple, nary a wimple,
not the slightest unsightly pimple
marring the flow and seductive lines-
a life sped without indent;
immune, spent in a special lane cleared of hard times.
Easy on the eyes, with “Oohs”, “Ahhs” and sighs.
What propels these seeming machines,
screeching and screaming, scheming and leaning
out at high speed;
ripping, grasping their dreams-
Oft times from slower and peeling
vehicles of lesser material means.

My vehicle is marred, and I like it this way-
I can see that dent and remember when;
I can pull up that funny fine day.
(That light post wouldn't get out of my way!)
Where is the joy in flawless contours-
there's no story, no tale-
a motor of sweet and sexy growl,
a machine never satisfied, never shiny enough,
ever on the prowl-
I'll pass on that dream machine fueled of the foul. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 400 [topic] => 64 [informant] => Invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous ) Your Poetry Dot Com - No Wax? No Problem.


No Wax? No Problem.
Date: Sunday, 5th October 2014 @ 07:59:45 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Invierno


Cars fairly dipped in wax so shiny liquid
the colour invites a drink;
“Some protectorant there”, methinks-
a life and not a scratch,
not a thatch or dimple, nary a wimple,
not the slightest unsightly pimple
marring the flow and seductive lines-
a life sped without indent;
immune, spent in a special lane cleared of hard times.
Easy on the eyes, with “Oohs”, “Ahhs” and sighs.
What propels these seeming machines,
screeching and screaming, scheming and leaning
out at high speed;
ripping, grasping their dreams-
Oft times from slower and peeling
vehicles of lesser material means.

My vehicle is marred, and I like it this way-
I can see that dent and remember when;
I can pull up that funny fine day.
(That light post wouldn't get out of my way!)
Where is the joy in flawless contours-
there's no story, no tale-
a motor of sweet and sexy growl,
a machine never satisfied, never shiny enough,
ever on the prowl-
I'll pass on that dream machine fueled of the foul.

This poem is Copyright © Invierno


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