Sidepipe Blues

[Tommy]

I don't recall seeing any poetry on this forum and I suspect there is a good reason for that. I'm no Hal Copple but I got the urge to try my hand at prose poetry and I though some of you might find it interesting.

Sidepipe blues

The sun on your skin like the glowing heart of that four hour old campfire you stand just a little too close to to drive the chill from your fingers.
The cool Autumn breeze, whipped into a fury by the bulbous body sculpted to hug the gargantuan tires that push it forward, wicks away much of the sun’s glorious heat leaving a delicate balance of warm and cool spots.
The azure blue sky hints at the vast dark universe lurking just behind it while the spotty white clouds remind you that perfect days such as this are rare and to be enjoyed fully.
The reassuring embrace of the racing seat and four point harness makes the car an extension of your natural body that responds to your thoughts as effortlessly as does your hand.
Traffic ebbs and flows on the uncrowded highway with every fifth car or so dwelling behind, beside or ahead for a longer look. Windows go down and cameras come out.
The soundtrack turned up loud and funneled to earphones to compete with the roaring wind and exhaust is as perfect as the weather - the Blues.
Tab Benoit, Albert King, Stevie Ray and Muddy Waters tell their stories of good men, bad women, sad men and women they should have treated better.
Stuffed into your head by the earphones, the music would be all you would hear in any other car …… but not this one. Not in the Cobra.
Above the music, like a a soundtrack for the soundtrack, there is the constant drone and rumble of the sidepipes. Amazingly, they always seen in tune with the music no matter the key. And they make the music sound even sweeter.
The spell of the open road has every sense fully engaged and you could be forgiven for overshooting your turn off, but you don’t. There is something waiting at the turn off that is even better than the blues and the drone of the sidepipes.
Seeing the turn ahead you consider the traffic and begin the first downshift. Music from the earphones fades to the background as the music off the sidepipes begins its crescendo. This is why you didn’t miss the turn.
The seat belts tug at you as drag from the high compression engine slows you as steadily as either brakes or quicksand. The sidepipes sing.
As the next downshift begins you blip the throttle to match engine speed with wheel speed and the sidepipes sing again. You’re not sure if they’ve been wronged or if they’ve done wrong, but its clear they are singing the blues.
After a few more verses you make the turn and are rewarded with a clear highway and a 65 MPH speed limit.
The engine surges. Tires struggle to hold their grip on the road. G forces build. The sidepipes sing their song of triumph.
It’s now clear that the sidepipes sang the blues because they wanted to be free. For a few moments …. until we hit 65 MPH …. they are free.
And then the story begins anew. Perfect day. Perfect car. Perfect music. And sidepipes singing the blues.