Pretty Painted Machine

Perfect new paint shines —
covers your body like silk
sheets pulled perfectly tight
across a lovely queen bed.

The scent of new glistens
where leather skin stretches
taught across seat backs
and arms. You could be held
by a graying lover or a fresh-
faced man-child out for
a first fast ride. You

like the cool room
of glass windows, waxed tile;
equally like the heat
of street and pavement waiting
outside for your display. You

acquiesce easily, push a button,
turn a key, roll forward.
Never complaining about
what you didn’t become,
unaware of what you are…
pretty painted machine without
sentience.

September 2010

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