Porsche
“Don’t touch the Porsche or you’re dead.”
You still hear your father’s voice in your head.
Don’t get in trouble.
Don’t go too fast.
Don’t forget what you’ve been told.
Don’t don’t don’t don’t.
But what if you listened to that other voice? The one that says grab the keys and hit the road. Swear to stay in trouble as you go. Make every street your autobahn. There is no lesson—forget what you’ve been told.
Make every “don’t” a dare.
Her name was Portia
She hung down by the quarry
A debutante dropout
In teenage purgatory
Beyond the pleasure principle
She said, lies a drive
Siren song under the hood
A double-dog dare to survive
So we killed our idols
And hit the road
Stole my parents’ car
Never left a note
Every street was an artery
Cul de sac autobahn
Stuck in fifth gear
Detention long gone
A cure for ennui
In search of jouissance
I turned to my left
But her only response:
No gods, no masters
Faster faster faster faster