songs of the sumday

no meter sunday morning

autumnal winds
rush roar gust scoot sweep past
martinique blue pontiac firebird trans effing am
golden dust caked cali plate
nineteen hundy seven eight
easy breeze waves break ‘round wash splash
rusting middle aged and aging muscle
oxidizing dream machine
built to last but vain are plans
and expectations bluffing hands
gto tires turned kiss curb
facing downhill view of Fillmore
quote-unquote needs scrub wax paintjob tune-up
oil change and full tank fill-up
don’t we all but not today
no meter sunday morning
/
qualifies for classic plates
even unpolished these chrome curves
don’t pay for car show lingerie
o.g. status evident truth is in the tired tread
never trailer shackled pick-up hauled
not 1 night jail garaged
red arrowhead westward aiming
windows rolled a crack
tufts of smoke billow out
rising like signals to the tribe
west coast war parties like to lose the “war” part on the weekends
passengers brain e-braked
neurons placed in park
no traffic on the mind’s highway
no meter sunday morning
/
survivor snails who still remember
Manzanar internment camp
crawl-scale hill hemp bags slow towing forward leaning
eyes to sidewalk half step half slide
no side glances city seasoned
shock long since absorbed no trepidation city salted
to each their own their space
no matter starting gate regardless race
city livin’ culture compromises
embrace the intermingling when hot happenstance arises
covet not thy neighbor nor prejudice presume
no cameras in the laundry room
no meter sunday morning
/
peace plaza pagoda
benches stained by wildlife staking out
for crumbs from couples huddled crouched
on steps splitting takeout
chewing quickly moment spoilt vibe unfit to frame as memory
too grizzly to gloss over like a two day stubbled chin
as it should be no in-ranks inspection stand sit lay
recline in pontiac at coma-toasted ease
no space reserved no V.I.P.’s
no meter sunday morning
/
a momentary planetary amnesty
to contemplate the golden gate multi-lane mirage
insurance schemes cash out beneath on faulty trampolines
in drifts Pacific mist armada
Francis Draking everything Presidio to Fillmore
laying coat of dew on firebird martinique blue
pontiac trans effing am
all day autopilot
no hassle lights no rearview checks
no beatdowns or beat down protests
no meter sunday morning