The transvestite interchange

Unusual colour of my pink Buick!
 underwear, black lace the unburned fuel
fire crackers in the exhaust and,
under the bonnet the carburettors pop and bang.
 She's Just waiting for the open road.
Shrug off the Iron Maiden constraint's, of society.
revel in the curves that wind.
Tossing my head, towards expectation's edge,
expose each inhibition.
My old life, is the tonneau stowed
beneath the rear seats.
Golden, lace trimmed boxing gloves
punching the air, 80 on the overpass.
The gawping cops, struck rigid. frozen in black and white,
they couldn't ride a road like a rhinestone carpet.
As I approach,
the transvestite interchange
Hoarding's, of my pin-ups.
Glam looks, that so define,
high on the billboard's.
I grasp at with painted nails
to capture that identity.
Rainbow freeway lies ahead
pedal to the floor
and say "who gives a FUCK"