Poetgal

Don’t bother me now
with valves, cylinders,
sleek bodywork, the thrill
of the open road; of this
I’ve no need - it’s all torque
and handling, raunchy metaphors,
dreams at idling speed -
boys’ toys.

And yet, and yet
today something choked me;
essence of Pininfarina
injected this quiet neck,
oil blacked out my breath,
power pushed back at my foot,
ground became air, I swear
the machine provoked me,
opened my mouth in a mighty ‘O’
uprooted my complacency,
with its fat heart in tow.