Lada

My grandmother

Loved her lava coloured Lada.

A thick brown vinyl roof,

Tiled and stretched.

A Battleship in length and

Mass, we were a crew

In an angular retro tank,

Without a Gun.

The world rebounded off the

Front, the bodies collided with

The side, the back would stay

Intact, even when men in

rep cars rear ended us.

The decor was mud brown,

Constrictive to the senses

Too long you would surely drown

In the plasticated menagerie of

Taccy dials and sticks and buttons.

The gold go faster stripe

made it go 30mph faster then

it would really go.

Lava could engulf it,

But the garage would

Buff it out again.