Ode to Blue Haired Ladies

Ever wonder why those blue haired ladies driving monstrous cars down the highway never seem to collide with anyone? Here's the answer.

They drive battleships down Mopac

at eighty miles per hour,

Peeping through the window of the wheel,

Hands at ten and two above their heads.

 

Next to them,

I see blue birds' nests and noses,

spectacles perched atop their beatific smiles,

gnarled knuckles absently in place.

 

I wonder what the blue-haired ladies think,

perched on pillows

inside two-ton metal missles

hurtlling down macadam and concrete.

 

I've never seen a single one

look to the side, the rear,

or ever use a mirror except to plant some

artificial roses in her cheeks.

 

They must drive divinely guided --

For I know they don't see me;

They don't see anyone,

They don't see traffic lights

or stop signs, dogs or joggers.

They see Jesus' face I think,

and he leads them safely home

and to the store for kitty litter.

 

I see them humming

in their tinted, cool coccoons;

"The Old Rugged Cross"

comes in telepathic transit through my window,

powered by the fervor of habitual belief.

 

The blue-haired ladies fill the roads,

a great and growing flock

of souls on cruise control --

holy rollers driven by their Lord,

their Ford, their Pontifiac,

their First Church of Buick,

comfy in their leather pews;

candles burn upon the dash next to plastic

virgins grinding to the bumps.

 

I think the blue hair must really be

secret, complex antennae

that link little old ladies directly to God.

Otherwise, all the roads and highways

would be littered with their corpses.

 

I smile at that -- and I relax,

safe in my knowledge that the car ahead,

powered by a blue-haired Oldsmobile apostle,

is surely, truely

blessed.

Reviews

[Incendiary Grievances]

The last stanza made me smile :) This is just wonderful--to take something like elderly women with blue hair and make it humorous but also ethereal to a certain extent is incredibly unique.

Your imagery is simply fantastic: "artificial roses in her cheeks" is a stroke of a brilliance.

[Samuel Dickens]

It's been said that God protects fools and old men, so I guess old, blue-haired women must be included. On one occasion, I think I might have had a bit of help, too, as I rode my motorcycle down I-40 and met a blue-hair going the wrong way in her First Church of Buick. "Pontifiac"--I like that. A good one, FlatDaddy.

[bookworm]

This really stands out Fd...so many great lines...I honestly had no idea what to expect from the title...I thought "what could one possibly have to say about that topic, really?" But, I am admittedly floored, and pleasantly so, I might add. This is incredibly creative, brilliantly worded, flawless flow and your last stanza brings her home...

You continue to surprise me...