O, tender youth with ball cap perched
And moustache like a wisp of dirt,
Upon my street and through my town
Why you drive so loud?
There’s thrill in speed, I get that, fine,
A race can spike adrenaline,
Perhaps you’re late and need to hurry,
But souped-up engines: really?
To tune one’s car, it’s not my bag,
To each his own, I always say.
Spoilers, pipes and mags: all tolerable,
I just don’t get the decibels.
I wish you’d thrust your melon out
Your window as you ride, and shout:
“I’m loud and fast cuz I’m an idiot,”
At least that would explain it.
Instead, you prop your hand upon
The steering wheel, so cool, just so,
Ignoring glares from seniors, dogs
As the engine goes “BHHRAU-BHHRAAAAAUUUGG!”
“The splendick’s murphing in the gleeps,”
I tell my dear one as we stroll,
Or that is all she hears at least
Above the Sentra’s caterwaul.
“Kids today…,” we frown and squawk
As soon as hearing’s been restored.
“Oh, great, he’s turned, he’s coming back.
Oh, wait, he’s forty-four.”
And who is this with tricked out muffler?
A youngish girl, a single mother.
Is it equal rights when noise horrific
And yet, O drivers, fast and pestiferous
With boorish cars mechano-vociferous,
I’m still far off from comprehending
The never-ending revving.
Were you neglected, you wee dear thing,
The youngest whelp of ten, thirteen?
You lacked attention, longed for fondness,
Abandoned in a lot of Hondas?
You wish to stand out in the crowd,
Impress your friends, make Papa proud?
Some strive through art, play sports, some sing
But, you, you’re just exhausting
I likewise strive to feel I’m different
Yet I don’t drive by your apartment with
Tricked out book, bright chrome upon it,
Shouting odes and sonnets.
Is this your social contribution:
Burning rubber, noise pollution?
Pushing neighbours to the brink?
Dunno; can’t hear myself think.
If you were on some circuit there, I’d
Cheer, “Rev on!” I wouldn’t care.”
But here along this peaceful bend
You are a NASCAR without the “N.”