White dude had it coming.
Shouldn’t park his car here.
Stripped it down in no time.
Gutted seats, engine block,
like pit crews at Indy,
in under one minute,
tripods, jacks, hydraulics.

Tires gone, ornaments,
them too, decals. Santos
went crazy with the gas,
almost blew his ass up
when he tossed the zippo,
got backdraft burnt, the fumes
like a little dragon,
and then campfire time.

Flames. Hola diablo.

Ninth precinct boys in blue
and the N.Y.F.D.,
enjoyed the spectacle.
Fire mesmerizes.
People really don’t care.

White dude came back and cried.
He’d seen napalm before
at the Tet offensive.

Hate me. I hate us all.
Detroit cranked ’em out,
we burned ’em up.  Life goes on…

© Chicheme, March 2013