Spastic Tango

[JamesG]

Spastic Tango

Driving the hard way
down the wrong shoulder,
up the hooded motorway,
gleeful texting as I go.
Drones droning to the left of me,
Sun boiling to the right,
chased by hate-filled robots
that want my job, my soul, my life.

They scatter all in front of me,
pearls clutching to their chests,
but inside I grow tentacles,
wet appendages that slap a
beat against the glass.
Feathers, fur, nails, and scales,
a hybrid monster, a hippogriff.
that flails and pecks and bites.

But nothing now can stop me,
nothing now can stop.
And as my speed increases -
I reach my apotheosis,
my destiny, my love.
Metal twisting fast around me,
embracing me, serrating me,
amputating me from my past.
Goodbye, you foreign country,
a tout a l'heure, you piece of shit,

With a terminal velocity,
a terminal escape,
I’m flying into the waiting Sun
into its open, shining maw.
We’re both spinning out of orbit,
dancing a fantastic, spastic tango,
two glittering monsters,
resolving now as one.




Maybe a bit clunky?  Or needs major surgery...



Spastic Tango v2

They’re driving the hard way
down the wrong shoulder,
up the hooded motorway,
gleeful filming as they go.
Drones droning to the left of them,
Sun boiling to the right,
chased by hate-filled robots
that want their jobs, their souls,
their life.

They scatter all in front of them,
pearls clutching to their chests,
but inside they grow tentacles,
wet appendages that slap a
beat against the glass.
Feathers, fur, nails, and scales,
hybrid monsters, hippogriffs,
that flail and peck and bite.

But nothing now can stop them,
nothing now can stop.
And as their speed increases -
They reach their apotheosis,
Their destiny, their love.
Metal twisting fast around them,
embracing them, serrating them,
amputating them from the past.
Goodbye, you foreign country,
a tout a l'heure, you piece of shit.

[busker]

I'm not quite sure about what is going on.
The poem gets harder to understand as it progresses, and the ending is completely cryptic. Is it just how someone's feeling while driving to work on a Monday morning? It's overdone.
So yeah, open heart surgery

With a terminal velocity,
a terminal escape,
I’m flying into the waiting Sun
into its open, shining maw.
We’re both spinning out of orbit,
dancing a fantastic, spastic tango,
two glittering monsters,
resolving now as one.

[matsunosuperfan]

The poem shows some obvious skill/craft - productive use of enjambment, interesting associative leaps, some reasonably well-executed slant rhymes and a good ear for cadence. These are all strengths that help the piece convince.

Ultimately though I still need a good deal more persuading. The title is kind of annoying and the poem doesn't disillusion me from this promise: it's hard not to feel this is all a bit kooky for its own sake. The title showing up near the end is an example of how this piece is operating too firmly in the domain of kitsch for my taste. I am intrigued by the tentacles but they don't ever really explain/justify themselves. Instead the speaker keeps getting increasingly carried away until we are almost just, like, having Tourette's on the theme (fur, scales, a monster a hippogriff!)

Then S3 gets further abstracted from any concrete occasion - we're crashing, I guess? Why are we crashing and why is it being romanticized? Why does the speaker nibble on some French all of a sudden?

Why repeat "terminal velocity" as "terminal escape" which seems more restatement than elaboration? "Open maw" is a cliche, as is "spinning out of orbit," as is the use of tango as such. Actually the ending is quite boring.

[JamesG]

For a bit of context (although it could be argued that if you need to provide context to a work of art it is not working anyway), this poem was written in response to the alarming recent craze here in Ireland of groups of young men driving stolen cars the wrong way down the hard shoulder of the motorway, apparently for clout on TikTok, which has led to a number of terrible accidents and deaths. This, of course, has engendered considerable online comment on the state of the feral youth of  Ireland, much of it classist and racist, and it is a terrifying trend, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about already. However, I do have a certain sympathy for a generation’s  (obviously I have considerably more for anyone they have crashed into) nihilistic response to a society that is telling them that AI is making them unemployable, they will never own anything, their present is unaffordable, and the world's going to end soon enough anyway, although of course, this craze is more likely about young people’s ability to do incredibly stupid things because they are unable to compute the consequences of their actions than any of the above.

I have edited the original to move from the first person to the position of a more narrative observer, which I think works a lot better in this context, and removed the last verse as it was garbage.

[matsunosuperfan]

Vastly improved by ending on S3 and "toddles u POS"
the more direct grounding in S1 is helpful too

much of the poem still explains its own joke too directly: "chased..  their life" is more or less straight editorial, ditto for "metal... from the past"

amputated from the past is a strong line, perhaps you can save it

[wasellajam]

Hi, James. As you have the original posted as the opener I read that first and prefer it. The poem read beautifully for me, the frustration with the current state of the world, the wild imagining of being something other than human, the recklessness of suicide by auto, the afterlife flight. I have no suggestions for you but will put down a few notes.

Spastic Tango

Driving the hard way
down the wrong shoulder,
up the hooded motorway,
gleeful texting as I go. Starts this off as no accident.
Drones droning to the left of me,
Sun boiling to the right,
chased by hate-filled robots
that want my job, my soul, my life. Ugh, 2026.

They scatter all in front of me,
pearls clutching to their chests, Gives the class difference.
but inside I grow tentacles,
wet appendages that slap a
beat against the glass.
Feathers, fur, nails, and scales,
a hybrid monster, a hippogriff.
that flails and pecks and bites. The wish for more power than a human has.

But nothing now can stop me,
nothing now can stop. The repeat expressed the loss of choice.
And as my speed increases -
I reach my apotheosis,
my destiny, my love.
Metal twisting fast around me,
embracing me, serrating me,
amputating me from my past. Satisfaction in the result.
Goodbye, you foreign country,
a tout a l'heure, you piece of shit,

With a terminal velocity,
a terminal escape, I like the double terminal, cause and effect.
I’m flying into the waiting Sun
into its open, shining maw.
We’re both spinning out of orbit,
dancing a fantastic, spastic tango, Lovely line.
two glittering monsters,
resolving now as one.




Maybe a bit clunky?  Or needs major surgery...



Spastic Tango v2

They’re driving the hard way
down the wrong shoulder,
up the hooded motorway,
gleeful filming as they go.
Drones droning to the left of them,
Sun boiling to the right,
chased by hate-filled robots
that want their jobs, their souls,
their life.

They scatter all in front of them,
pearls clutching to their chests,
but inside they grow tentacles,
wet appendages that slap a
beat against the glass.
Feathers, fur, nails, and scales,
hybrid monsters, hippogriffs,
that flail and peck and bite.

But nothing now can stop them,
nothing now can stop.
And as their speed increases -
They reach their apotheosis,
Their destiny, their love.
Metal twisting fast around them,
embracing them, serrating them,
amputating them from the past.
Goodbye, you foreign country,
a tout a l'heure, you piece of shit.

Thanks for the read.

[JamesG]

Thanks for the feedback ;0) Of course, now I have to decide which is the better version (I think the second one but I am glad you like the first!).