Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Weapons of Mass Destruction

Only men remember the names of their cars,

the make and model and the year they got them.

 

They can recall the feeling on their thighs

from the cushioning of luxurious leather

as they slide in with a longing sigh.

 

There is no will power known to man

that can keep their fingers from caressing,

the steering wheel spinning in their fantasy drive.

 

Eyes scanning the dash to inspect the odometer

praising the low mileage of where she's been driven

fooling himself that he's the driver that counts.

 

If only they understood the true lust of leather

comes in the form of wedges or stilettos,

and not only noticed when they're kicked off.

 

Which, by the way, are Pradas,

sold by Neiman Marcus,

bought last month at Fifth and Grand.

Request permission to use this poem
p
Written by
patricia-a-hawkenson-1
American
Published
Sep 3, 2009
Lines·Words
17·130
Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell patricia-a-hawkenson-1 how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write