Poem: ‘Mid-History of the Motor-Car’
Glyn Maxwell, 12 March 1992
Doors on them now, the automobiles, the black
Grandiose, or red, gold-lined Elegances: flashing along through London, Oxford, the blossoms and lanes.
They stop at the wayside pubs and enthusiasts Boast, munch, wipe, compare. This is the lunchtime that takes forever, Our dads somewhere there.
Then oils and alloys come, so do Enforced windows and speeds, old names Now for the humming and...