POOL

BARBARA HAMBY

Mambo Cadillac 

Drive me to the edge in your Mambo Cadillac, 
	turn left at the graveyard and gas that baby, the black
night ringing with its holy roller scream. I’ll clock
	you on the highway at three a.m., amen, brother, smack 
the road as hard as we can, because I’m gonna crack
	the world in two, make a hoodoo soup with chicken necks,
a gumbo with a plutonium roux, a little snack
	before the dirt and jalapeÒo stew that will shuck
the skin right off your slinky hips, Mr. I’m-not-stuck
	in-a-middle-class-prison-with-someone-I-hate sack
of blues. Put on your highwire shoes, Mr. Right, and stick
	with me, ‘cause I’m going nowhere fast, the burlesque
queen of this dim scene, I want to feel the wind, the Glock
	in my mouth, going south, down-by-the-riverside shock
of the view. Take me to Shingles Fried Chicken Shack
	in your Mambo Cadillac. I was gone, but I’m back
for good this time. I’ve taken a shine to daylight. Crank
	up that radio, baby, put on some dance music
and shake your moneymaker, sweetheart, rev it up to mach
	two. I’m talking to you, Mr. Magoo. Sit up, check
out that blonde with the leopard print tattoo. O she’ll lick
	the sugar right off your doughnut and bill you, too, speak
French while she do the do. Parlez-vous francais? Okay, pick
	me up tonight at ten in your Mambo Cadillac			
‘cause we got a date with the devil, so fill the tank
	with high-octane rhythm and blues, sugar cane, and shark
bait, too. We got some miles to cover, me and you, think
	Chile, Argentina, Peru. Take some time off work,
‘cause we’re gonna be gone a lot longer than a week 
	or two. Is this D-day or Waterloo? White or black—
it’s up to you. We’ll be in Mexico tonight. Pack
	a razor, pack some glue. Things fall apart off the track,
and that’s where we’ll be, baby, in your Mambo Cadillac,
	‘cause you’re looking for love, but I’m looking for a wreck.

 

   

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