O, ’66 Plymouth Valiant! In you will I put my trust.
Your chromed, Barracuda hood ornament leads me.

Your tuck ’n roll bucket seats comfort me.
Your 400-horsepower Hemi engine will save me

from being shamed by a Biscayne dragging Main Street.
Though I double-clutch down Red Mountain, I will not fear,

for your disc brakes and your Hurst shifter are with me.
Your tubular suspension protects me. Your roll bar

watches over me—a halo of Chrome-Moly black steel.
Your aluminum wheels and posi-traction rear-end 

will carry me from the mid-west to New Mexico.
Even though I cross-country to San Francisco,

I have no need for a motor hotel. In truck-stop 
parking lots your double-bass exhaust is hushed, 

while a waitress prepares a table before me of pork chops,
buttered toast, hash browns, and fried eggs sunny-side up.

You anoint my hands with grease. The sweet smell
of gasoline will follow me all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the pleasures of your back seat forever.