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One poet said he was writing a Ford.
He called it a testament to American ethic,
And it was well-received by fine magazines.

Another poet said she was writing a Honda.
She called it cultural awareness,
And it was well-received by fine magazines.

Another poet wrote about a car with its
Brand name shaved off, careening down the highway
At 110mph while being chased by a sea of sirens.
The car’s back window was shattered,
Bloody glass rattled over the bouncing trunk lid,
And the leg sticking out of the trunk twisted
With three false knees and dangled an untied shoe.

The fine magazines did not have room for the third piece.
Besides, there was this new poet out there – of a Tesla.
It was said to be the words of the electric youth.

Photo by Joey Kyber on Unsplash

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