As All Hell
As I think back to those days of my exuberant youth,
That era of '53 and '54 "bathtub" Corvettes,
'55 Ford Thunderbirds, '57 Chevy Bel Airs,
When the very mention of those models
Spelled not only reliability, affordability, and great looks
But heady high performance, the epitome of speed,
I get excited, all over again,
Though, now, I'm just an inconsequential old man,
Irrelevant, in this age of imminent Depression,
Which has kids living with their parents, again,
For lack of jobs, which we've free-traded out of existence,
And GM, Ford, and Chrysler singing swan songs,
As people shun their products —
Their clunky designs and oil-dependent engines,
Their inablity to steer a straight course, into the future.
Today, more than fifty years after I fell in love with cars,
I try to fathom the politics of Congressional committees
Debating whether or not to bail out America's auto industry,
And I realize it's not that I don't care
But that I'm frustrated, angry, and disgusted, as all hell,
That the Big Three have driven America away.
11/20/08 - (2)
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