C ~ Hey! You across the street!

The 353 finds the street where I wait in the spit
I know the laugh of your engine, your own engine
You are savage when you smile across at me
Man of chrome, of expensive, unstained alloy
Were it not for the concrete tundra parting us
I'd be at you for calling me boy

I am not a boy anymore, I swear
by this street I am not yours, nor she
Yet I see you there silently parting her breasts
and gagging her laugh with my face
Her hand upon your chrome wheel-trims
as simple and bare as a savage

You savage my raincoated dignity
The idol and murderer of the boy
who sees you monstrous against a chrome sky
from across the gulf of the street
Who longs to have your leather laugh
and has no need of parting words

for parting leaves me wanting your company
You who understands my savage appetite
You laugh at all my protests with indifference
The boy, you say, will sulk for all his vanity
but still the street will swallow up our difference
Then I will have the body and the chrome

Though if I wear the chrome, will I be seen?
I couldn't bear her parting me for that
The yawn of the street makes me wary, unsteady
It is savage that I must dispose of you, you of me
but this is the streetwar and we are the boy
Only one of us will have the last laugh

So laugh now
I want to see my face glide across chrome
I want to see this 'boy'
No more parting your arms to welcome me
I am not a savage
We must meet in the middle of the street

The last throb of a parting laugh
wounds the chrome of a savage visage
and flares up against the boy in the street