Mid-History of the Motor-Car
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 wordless lounges
Or cores of aeroplanes;
Displays will be lit and talk.
Windows zup and move and children
Penned in the back while the Best of Bach
Emanates from where, still
And hairlessly they drive. They are
Naked. They survive,
Do Dummy 1, Dummy 2
And Dummy XN-605.