He was a prince of the city.
His smooth white Charger
Slid like quick silver
The length of Riverside Drive
Under bridges bedecked
With jewels of light,
Past risings of steel and stone
Holding yellow windows
Of storied light.
He was a hot coolness
Of forward motion-
A rev’d up
High testosterone
Missile of intent
Seeking his own Broadway
Amid caverns of concrete
Echoing of Sirens.
He flew night air
To the quick thump
Of pavement
Beneath spinning wheels
And jumping axles.
He sliced time and space
And hurtled past lights
Of red and white
That danced the arteries
Of night.
And upon the windshield
Of his mind
A maiden of the night
Already danced.
She moved to bump and grind
Amid dark and winding ways
Beneath the towers of light
Whose reflections
Touched
The engine driven
Glass and metal
Slickness
Of his manhood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed this one very much. You evoked the spirit of Friday night 'cruising' with solid imagery. Well done.