She doesn’t have a car and she lives out in the suburbs
I’m sure by now she’s realized that her lot in life’s absurd.
He drives their only car, a Grand Am GT,
Back and forth to work each day, to and from the city.
He drives it really fast, he puts it through its paces,
He keeps it nice and clean for display in parking spaces.
He ferries her to work, he ferries her to school
She wonders if the car in this is the only tool.
The car’s home’s a garage that faces on the street
Their home’s in the back where things are more discreet
And their view of the mountains at which he likes to stare
Will be there forever, at least from the upstairs.
On clear days he sees them, majestically they rise
Above the foreground’s cacophony of asphalt roof lines.
And they’ve got a little lawn, at least enough to mow,
So they bought a lawn mower because that’s the way things go.
But the mower is a piece that’s hard to push up hill
And the concrete retaining wall makes things harder still
And the GT’s not a Beamer and spends time in the shop
When the limits that he takes it to makes things inside go pop.
And the landscape of their life has become a shrinking view
Like the cul-de-sac off the collector road with the pink stucco mews
And he tells himself he’s fine but the unease will not stop
Because the limits that he’s pushed it to made things inside go pop.
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