Baby, You Can Drive My Tongue Poem by Scotty Dogg

Don't carve out my rough and bumpy parts
as they're good for mastication and steering
from salty towns to bitter hubs. How might
I whistle your name clearly? Twist me to

the roof of the yellow Volkswagen and
propel me towards destinations of good
taste. I'll wag myself in the open air lingo,
whooshing along a vivid splash of highways

and truck stops and diesel dive bars and my
mouth knows I am the meat and potatoes.