Fex 242 Poem by Steven B Taylor

Humorous


FEX 242
(Alias the Batmobile)

Opus 8

Its sleek lines caress the eye,
Its engine purrs and roars.
The slipstream offers up a sigh,
That rattles all the doors.

The flaps are down, the runway's clear.
The tape deck's at full blast.
The take-off's smooth, and have no fear,
You're moving mighty fast.

The pilot's in the twilight zone,
Full breeze upon her face.
Her senses have been fully honed,
To drive with simple grace.

To tunes of Russian symphony,
She flies at super pace.
The thunder of the Tympani,
Makes blood and heartbeat race.

A marvelous vehicle, this steed,
Its ride and comfort smooth.
That she forgets to check her speed.
So taken with this mood.

A messenger, from heaven commin',
Regards her in her flight.
And offers up a simple summons,
To aid her in her plight.

One wonders why she let this guy,
Make this simple bust.
And didn't simply let it fly,
and leave him in the dust.

Oh, there's a land, a far-off way,
Where life's serene and high,
Where living vehicles, they say,
Can run until they die.

It's open, wide and flowing free,
And they appreciate a car.
Where you are always on a spree,
Embracing Russian Tsars!

Steven B. Taylor
May 26,1997