New Car Smell
Jan 12 2021
It doesn't have that new car smell.
Like dialing a rotary phone,
writing with pencil and paper,
and a single TV
with 3 scheduled stations,
one more thing
the young will never know.
That dizzying miasma
of crude plastic gassing-off
and synthetic carpets fuming
that filled our space-age cars
with their intoxicating newness.
Back when Detroit had its swagger
and cars burned leaded gas
that was cheaper than soda.
Back when kids jostled for legroom
in the big vinyl backseat,
no air bags, head rests, seatbelts.
Back when dads chain-smoked Camels
and the air was blue with tobacco
and we all happily inhaled
his stale second-hand smoke.
So it was either take a chance with cancer,
or crack a steamed-up window
and catch your death of cold.
These days, the world is cleaner.
We buy safer cars
that almost drive themselves.
And young people
are more conscious of health
than we ever might have been.
Even though their eyes are glued to screens,
hoping to be seen
and feeling left out.
Even though carbon is increasing
and winters are warming
and forest fires rage,
massive gyres of plastic
are circling out at sea.
Cars that stunk of poison
we must surely have absorbed.
So when the end comes
will we all be toxic waste,
our bodies wrapped and buried
in hermetically sealed graves?
How odd, then
that our old abandoned cars
are open to the air
a d fresh as early spring
— windows busted
and crumbling to rust
in weedy junkyard lots.
Some half-smoked butts
still crumpled in the ashtray.
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