Friday, 8 January 2010

The Goodfella

He christens the ground with the Camaro’s wheels,
Nods his head to the radio as the engine squeals,
Down the infinite stretch of auburn sand,
Smiles at the thought of once more holding her hand.

All the way from Mexia, Texas
He’s escaped the tight unity of his inland nexus
They frown upon him as he leaves the cabstand
But he stupidly laughs off this cold reprimand

He thinks how mediocre his life has been so far
And how much better it feels to be driving this car
Because he didn’t pay for it, and he doesn’t have to think
About work the next day or seeing the shrink

No comments:

Post a Comment