thunders by on Route 18 South,
neurons fire, my 50 year old brain
searches for the word on the car.
Look close, a metallic logo confirms.
Drive on, beside him, behind him
remembering an old guy’s lament-
back in the days before computers,
street legal, slant sixes, big blocks,
4 barrel carburetors, a story always
laced with numbers, V8, 383, 426,
street legal, slant sixes, big blocks.
Secret codes for those who lived it.
Never saw these, even in the 70’s,
Chargers, Firebirds, Mustangs, sure.
Something ugly about this one, long
in front, squared off grill like a mouth
of the fish a Detroit guy named it after.
This one’s dull gray with a white roof.
I’d paint it purple, make the roof black.
Must be headed down the shore with
Historic QQ Jersey plates. Bet he plays
that old “Heart” song as kids walk along
the rows of cars with parents and say-
It’s kind of cool, what’s the name of that?