It’s something of a catamaran for the street— Twin jutting prows, replete With glittering chrome… Not the sort of thing you see making itself at home In the modern driveway. Not subtle. It has something else to say, And it says it in a V-8 baritone. Can scare you if you’re alone On the sidewalk, not seeing, aloof And I floor the throttle. I’ll raise your roof, And your B.P. as well.
The upgraded Nailhead just sounds so swell… And the radio too, now that it’s linked To orbiting birds, offering a whole kitchen sink Of music, news, commentary, sports… But no, I seek trumpet statements and sax retorts. The jazz channel will do just fine. Might physically lock it in, or make others tow the line.
No channel-changing without my say so. Absolutely not. It just doesn’t go. I don’t want Top 40 inanity interrupting the flow Of cool jazz, hot jazz, superannuated pop… Big bands that wail like they just can’t stop… Little combos dispensing frenetic bebop… Music older than the car itself. Both vehicle and music rescued from the shelf And given another spin by Jean and me As we write another chapter of our own history… As we start hobnobbing car-culturally With people who’ve done it a lot longer than we. Some of them are wealthy enough for a shopping spree In some car corral somewhere, or at a major auction, Rolling away in some one-of-a-kind concoction Of wheels, tires, motor, tranny, bodywork… A museum piece to which being seen in public is a quirk And a climate-controlled garage a bare necessity. Truth: that’s not for me. I want to drive my old car, you see. I want the whitewall tires to withstand gravity By staying nice and round. Can’t do that by standing still on the ground. Have to drive around. Have to show off. Have to let the skeptics scoff. Have to wave and be waved at. Have to make an impression in no time flat. And five’ll get you twenty that we’ll do just that. The silver Riviera rolls today. Might be coming your way.
Thus, our day plan. The fact is, I have no idea exactly where we might drive. Weather will have a say; toward evening, things are supposed to get precipitationally “iffy” and, at very least, I want the Riviera to be standing still when the sprinkles arrive.
Next Saturday, we have a “Cars & Coffee” event first thing, then the Vagabonds show in East Petersburg. Therefore, today is crucial. If anything needs further tweaking, I have to find out this weekend in time to remedy it (or, rather, have it remedied). So… a-Rivving we shall go.
In closing, I must mention that a few minutes ago, while in the bathroom washing my hands, I was surprised to discover that my right thumb wasn’t where my right pinkie’s supposed to be, and vice versa. This must have been dream detritus. Seriously, I was taken aback to notice that my right-side digits hadn’t been flip-flopped. No explanation otherwise.