Bitchin' 'Bout the Past

You used to be able to look at a Packard
or a Cadillac
or even one of Henry's damned Fords
And know exactly what make it was
from three blocks away
on a rainy evening

But elegance and grace and two-toned summer shoes
are out
Gone
And all the Cary Grants today
have to pass
in sixty dollar jeans
And they say we're making progress

Cars all shaped like bars of soap, sixty thousand dollar bars
slippery in the wind I guess
boring
Good to drive, but my god, where is Fred Astaire
and a long sweep of fender
Ginger
and something worth a second look

The world's a poorer place without the '40 Continental
road houses, big bands
and crickets on a summer night
thin wheels in Bogart hands
long hoods
suicide doors
tops down and passions up