I feel like the sound
Of our half fixed catalytic converter
The deep growl of our v8
The squeak of the tool box in the back seat

Pollutes the air
As we drive between mansions that never end
Surrounded by frogs chirping
And fountains bubbling
Breeze brushing through windows rolled down
In the quiet moments
Between the brakes and gas

How can our noise
Not pollute the chandeliers
Hanging from thirty foot ceilings
And the pristine driveways and steps
Holding no evidence
Of their fancy cars
And designer shoes
Ever touching them