Ninety-Eight Jeep Cherokee... My Wolverine

Ninety-Eight Jeep Cherokee... My Wolverine

A high-caliber bullet,
A jade butterfly,
And a big key
Are hung around a mirror.


Years ago
There would have been
A boy in the backseat
Playing his music.


With your mighty treads
The boy can be taken
Over steep hills and
Through deep floods,


And your weathered screen
Can deflect snapping wind,
Shake off heavy rain,
And harsh sun on deck.


Spotlights of your intimidating
Face glare light into
Dark seas, while your back
Tells others to slow down.


You've accelerated through curves,
Tricking the butterfly into
Trying to wriggle and thrash
From its cocoon once more.


You've heated and cooled,
Need to be fueled,
And begin shaking with
Anxiety near top speed.


I always carry the key,
The trick, the code
To being all the crew
And inciting oar to row


Through any dank jungle
Or forsaken flats,
Or ghost towns or more
Boastful and loud lands.


You are a beacon, the
Way home. You are a
Steed, whenever I need
Waiting parked in a stable.


The boy can be captain,
Protected in the breech
Of an armored tank cabin,
Riding over rogue waves


As a destroyer, a submarine,
Or anti-tank immobilizer.
Grown up playing in the backseat,
Now with a big key,


A high-caliber bullet, and
An excited butterfly in hand.

Feedback

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