Fiats and Honey

There was a girl
who sold honey
on the side of the road
under a pop-up tent
waving to all the passersby

There was heel-and-toe
and downshifting my Fiat
through tight curves
the thrill of coming out,

accelerating,
in the middle of the curve
knowing the chance of sliding
off into the ditch was passed

I whipped that little Fiat
with all forty-eight horsepower
as hard as it would go.

The tent stays folded,
my Fiat is a memory,
the girl is gone,
and before you know it,
I will be too.

I wonder who will
remember the honey
and who will remember
the thrill of the gears