some of the uncle-ing

I have an inkling you are debonair,
but let us finish scalping dust (extraneous)
from our new car, thus careen
across the driveway as we are.
I'm seldom running the decision set,
and yet you listen to my stories
of the tar-stained driver's side,
with white backgrounded by these random scars.

Let us go riding to the hill and look down
on the neighbors without naming.
Any day now they will act in kind.
And I will hamstring my own mind by seeking
to reclaim my seat-time speaking on behalf
of them and thee.