“muscle cars”

Beneath blue skies where blacktop swirls and bends,  
A thunder wakes the morning, sharp and proud—  
Chrome monsters snarl and shimmer as they send  
A rebel’s anthem rumbling through the crowd.  

The hood stripes streak with old Americana,  
Bold engines hum with promises of flight;  
Four hundred horses caged in steel and mana,  
Long, low, and loud—they vanish in the night.  

Houndstooth interiors, dashboard dials aglow,  
Polished wheels spinning tales of summer heat;  
Their gasoline hearts beat steady, bold and slow,  
Echoing youth where speed and freedom meet.  

In Chevelle blue or cherry Mustang red,  
The scent of rubber—burnt, but bittersweet—  
Each pass recalls the legends, both living and dead,  
When Main Street was a raceway, and tomorrow—fleet.  

For every muscle car a story roars—  
Of grit and chrome, of dreamers on the run;  
A pocketful of miles behind closed doors,  
Eternal as the setting of the sun.

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems