Jalopy
poem By James E. Magyary
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Fourth of July unfolds,
run up a pole,
freed in a flap.
The sun promenades
along its dazzling archway.
This dirt backroad scrawls
through a torn nowhere.
Flair!
cracks the air,
salutations gunned
from a reddened engine,
white smoke shot
towards royal-blue sky.
Backseat bouncing and side
to side rocking
chatters me like a china
cup in the jitterbugged
hand. I'm
bone dice in her shaker;
she's Destiny with a lead foot.
Barreling around curves and bends,
changes and then straight-aways,
I plead "driver, driver-lady,
please keep your foot away from that brake."
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Above is one of my favorite all-time poems about a hair-raising ride on The Fourth of July. This is a mix of comedic delight, outstanding sonics and imaginative flair. Written by a very clever guy , whom I adore and admire so dearly, this graces my blogsite with style and poetry at its very best.
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