Ring Pop

My brother and I used to play with cars
On a giant mat six times our size.
We had an aversion to Matchbox
and an odd obsession with Hotwheels
that stemmed mainly from
his entrepreneurial desire to
later sell those childhood memories
when he got too old to play.

Back then we always followed traffic laws
That were enforced
by six inch, pint-sized
Police officers of our own devising.
Funny how it seems to still apply today.
We had to tick-tock at every stop sign
And allow the right-of-way to the lone motorcycle
that never had a rider
but who we always imagined was the coolest
kid in that little schoolhouse
at the edge of the map.

Our ideal town has two ponds and a factory
It had 1-point-7-5 mansions
Two farm houses
And the promise
Of Utopia
emanating from the circle around
one lone farm house in the middle
of urbania, devoid of neighbors
and alone in the center of that tiny
Hotwheels world.

We would play for hours on end
with our imaginations running rampet
as I became the poor man with a single car
and my brother took the mansion with his slew
of high-end automobiles that really didn't matter to me
Except that they looked really cool
With their sleek little curves
and silky-smooth textures
of bright red and moody black.

I loved my little Auston Martin
because it was a convertable
That would never convert back
from its wind-in-the-hair,
celebrity appeal of having the top down.

Funny how my brother never grew out of cars
And I never grew out of the idea of cars
He's still fascinated by the gentle hum of the engine
that we once made by vibrating our lips at supersonic speeds
And I still care about the way those little toys felt
as I brushed infantile fingers over the waxy surface.
The pure beauty of sculpted curves taunted me
when I looked down at the blob of skin
which blocked the view of my feet.

I still crave that perfection
And get closer every day
He still craves the attention
And gets richer in some way.

But it's funny to think
that they designed those cars
To be so small
Like the ring on a ring pop
You're meant to grow out of
But sometimes, you never do.