A Poem About Cars And Drivers And The Driven Poem by Gayathri Seetharam

A poem about cars and drivers and the driven
-Gayathri B. Seetharam
Last night, I had dozed off on the couch
And woke up to see on Sportsnet,
A goal being scored in a terrific move
As what the commentator termed as the Forsberg move
And I called as the Solitary Drive to the goal
I had to look up what the Gretzky move was
And researching on the internet
I concluded that the clever manouver beating all the players around
And the long shot with complete control
Were among his signature moves
Mentally making a note to see the Gretzky-Howe show
At the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto
I decided that revving up the engine from the driver's seat
Or even a tune-up of the engine of my past car-like personality
Was an impossibility unless I had a car which needed bodywork at Bemac Auto in Ottawa
By a certain mechanic, Joe, who could make my husband's Passat as good as new twice
But then again, I had gotten rear ended in my leased Mazda Protégé
When luckily, my son-child was not in the car
And in Toronto, the same car had had a taillight smashed into by a bus
Which chose me when I was peacefully waiting to make a left turn at a busy intersection
And my son was in the car but he did not feel a thing and this in itself was a piece of good fortune
Insurance came to the rescue both times
But this is all past history of my driving days
And I kid you not, driving increases sexual craving as regular work-outs do
But one's fit as a fiddle but there is a certain mellow air about me now
And I don't choose Michael Germaine's perfume, Sexual,
Which is more affordable these days
But I prefer Ralph Lauren's Romance
Which when combined with the scent of earnings for hard work
Fittingly called as Elusive by me
And which would smell of the warmth of summer
With the perfume of the rose in a bushy plant
And the taste of the blooming cauliflower
However, I have ordered Monet's Garden Mix
Which is a collection of 20 tulip bulbs
Blossoming in a colourful flash of light
And this would also be a sexual epiphany
For as Louis Armstrong has sung in 1967 a year before my birth
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.