From A Buick Six. (for B.D.)

All I had at sixteen

was a V.W. bug convertible

madras shirts and white pants

a few beers in the back

Beach Boys on the radio

and that was enough 

for the fancy to go wild.

My Toyota Celica was a gas

after I got a radar detector

outran the cops twice in 

Red Feather Lakes, Colorado,

stopped politely for the Sheriff. 

Speeding in Dad’s Buick Electra

back from a shocking weekend

with a girl at 18 didn’t care 

what happened.

That was the Spirit! America!