You got a fast car, you showed off with it and pissed us off

(body as asset)

You got a fast car, you showed off with it and pissed us off, you’re cruising to the docks and looking for girls, we’ll give chase in our old beater and you’re unaware, we’ve been watching you accumulate assets, getting the better car, showing it off, and blaring your music that sounds foreign to us.

It might as well have been a telegram because that’s what I feel when I see their headlights like shifty eyes in my rear-view, what they meant to me in retrospect, what it means now that age brings just this clarity: I don’t know the meaning of their chase.

You got nice paint, good grill, (face and teeth), expensive clothes, (muscles), how’d you manage to get that nice car, we’re suspicious, we watch you sprint and don’t like you. Maybe you should run.

I run echoes around the track, but there will be tougher competition at the meet. The meat of the matter is that this place is already rear-view to me but I have to choose my friends, carefully, I tally how things are going so fast that graduation is an afterthought already and I don’t even know if I’ll attend. Odometer rises, down low.

You were born into riches, your DNA and assets, makes you tall and proud but rubs me the wrong way, and your smirk bugs me. I’m hopped up on something, ride souped up too, we chase. I don’t know you but I don’t like your face.

I am here and always will be. Who are you again, we gonna fight?

I catch up and see that you’re my brother. Not really, but you know. And I wonder what would have happened had I not caught up . . . Maybe I should tell you some of this.

They caught wind of me, I am free and trapped at the same time, I can’t forget them, I am commodity, my ride an asset, I am one with my body, vehicle, I got a fast car and I’m driving quickly, frantic except it’s been too long a time to call it frenetic, wasn’t sure I was ever trying to shake their chase, but if you hate me so much then why are you still with me, or at least a second behind?

It’s all good, I’ll never forget your example.

What even-less acceptance would you have considered, if I had nothing? Nothing’s what you wish I had. I’ll always remember you.


Sam Kaspar was born in Canada, is of Lebanese heritage, works in USA as an orthopedic surgeon, and writes part-time, preferring topics of nature, existentialism, social justice, deep raw genuine emotion, heritage, memory… He’s had over 20 publications so far of his poetry (Vallum, Tiny Seed, Rigorous, Iron Horse etc), prose (Burnt Pine, Snapdragon etc), plus scientific publications. Facebook page reading poetry & prose: @MightySamster.

Photo by Lucas Ludwig on Unsplash

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