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“Bratpack Jerry”

Bratpack Jerry’s still got it. He’s kept it all these years.
Aztec Camera streams from the Kenwood cones,
Oblivious is what the English boys are singing
As the gaunt man sits fondling his shifter at the light.

Radiation streams through the open sunroof,
Desiccating an already-dry pineal eye.
His face is as checkered as the flags upon his jacket,
But walking thousands of miles for Camels kept him in shape.

The big Beemer six still runs — on its third head now.
The red paint is dull, the gold stripes are fading.
A gift from a dying aunt, given in relief upon
Completion of Stanford while not seeming too gay.

The light turns green and he clicks the shifter,
Time for one more puff and a glance my way,
And he’s off in a cloud of burnt oil and expectations.
Bratpack Jerry’s still got it. He’s kept it all these years.

©2014 Bill LaBrie

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photo credit: FotoSleuth via photopin cc