Addicted to petrol fumes

The summer had melted tarmac
and couldn't be bothered with clothes,  
six weeks of heat and empty streets  
sat on the garden wall  
waiting for school to start again  
no more games left to play.  
  
The dog heard it first;  
on colder days he would chase the tyres  
try to get his teeth on something.  
The engine thumped around the corner  
and stopped in front of me  
"Climb on" he said leaning back    
in the shape of an arm chair.  
   
My small hands rested  
on the cool metal  
of the Bonnevilles blue and white tank,  
Dad keeping me safe  
with his James Dean cigarette  
and fly away, teddy-boy fringe.  
I felt like a test pilot,  
face in the wind,  
a smile that drooled adrenaline  
onto a pillow of realized dreams.  
   
We only went around the block  
but that was all it took.