You are a moving boom-box floating down my street
No way you'll stop without a loud screech
Your seats are too high
And too uncomfortable
You cost more than ten grand
That price is just impossible
I kind of wish you were a Camaro
But if you were,
Then I wouldn't be this narrow
You are able to change outfits
With or without a roof
I don't like it exposed
If it is
Then you'll see all the spaces were I spilt some juice
And places were I left a receipt or
Places were there's no more seat
You,
Screechy, Kool-Aid, expensive car
Made for music and seeing afar
Are a box that we drive in
And go to drive-through s in
Even though you have your own lint
I should just be thankful that I have a car to go to school in
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Foxy, great job. I am totally honored young lady. You are a fine poet. S.