Yes, you, in the smashed up swerving Camaro
(not knowing you were driving my seventeen
year old self’s dream car), you have a lot of nerve.
I know it’s Friday, and the weekend’s a bar tab
you haven’t yet opened, but I’m your mother’s age.
Still, “Hey, Baby!” is a classic, and so’s the white
tee you were wearing, from the glimpse I got,
and it’s hot enough this November for shorts,
which would put anyone in a sportive mood.
You were rude, no doubt, and your male privilege,
on principle, offends me (I’m old enough
to be called ma’am, and you jamming the brakes).
Still, on balance, you put some bounce in the balls
of my feet, and really, it was kind of sweet,
a little treat for my day, a little sauce and flounce.
Photo used under Creative Commons License (BY-NC-ND-2.0)
