Mercedes And The Impala - Poem by Taylor Rosewood
'I couldn't help noticing your shiny Impala.
It's a 69' right? and butternut yellow?
Who gave you this behemoth?
or did you buy it yourself?
Do you like these old boats?
Am I talking too much?
Evidently I am,
because your eyes are growing wide,
but what so you think?
Can I sit inside?
My dad had one, but not for long.
He got bored and kinda' moved on-
to German cars- Karmann Ghias and Mercedes-
Oh that's your name? Wow! That's amazing!
So is this a 427, or a little 350?
The big block's better, or so I've been told.
A 69' wouldn't have the Dynaflow though.
And two bucket seats- I thought It'd be a bench.
And what's with this gearshift? It looks like a wrench.
Uh-oh! Lightning! August rain is on the way.
Oh Yeah. Sure. I think I can stay.
Name's T.R. What's yours?
Oh! I'm sorry. You told me.
You're Mercedes from Pomona.
Please don't scold me.
Wow! It's coming down, and don't think
I'm strange, but I've never sat in a car
and watched movies in the rain.
And this too might sound forward,
but I'm in need of some relief.
I'm normally cold at drive-in's,
but this heat is beyond belief.'
Now I'm 40 on the 10, dreaming of her here-
dreaming of Cherry Coke and her raven black hair.
I'm losing it again, still wanting to pretend-
I'm there in her Impala, at that drive-in in Montclair.
Comments about Mercedes And The Impala by Taylor Rosewood
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You