poetry by j matthew waters

test driver

she didn’t steal the car
she just borrowed it for the night
drove up and down the one ways
under the friday city lights

puffing on one hundreds
she sang along with the am radio
a cold six-pack by her side
the night slightly becoming cooler

there were plenty of dragsters
biding their time
chomping for a race
but she kept the four-barrel
carburetor purring like a puma
wanting to give chase

local coppers let the young ones
enjoy their weekend fun
but when special bulletins
point to grand theft auto
those boys in blue quickly learned
exactly what’s she’s got

august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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