A Car of One's Own

Diane Wakoski is known for her 1971 collection, The Motorcycle Betrayal Poems. The paperback's cover bore this dedication: "This book is dedicated to all those men who betrayed me at one time or another in hopes that they will fall off their motorcycles and break their necks." Wakoski also wrote a much-anthologized poem called "The Hitchhikers":

They burn you
like the berries of mountain ash in August,
standing by the road,
clearly defined,
Autumnal brilliant, heads
scorched from waiting
in the sun.
How can
you pass them up?
But you do,
and dream each night of a hell,
where you are a hitchhiker,
and no one will ever stop to pick you up.

Let's just say things get darker from there ("In my car, is an altar, sacrificial stone and knife...") But not all relationships with driving (or being driven) is so fraught. Here's an excerpt from "The Buddha Inherits 6 Cars on His Birthday":

VI. Old Cars

In my car of crocodile teeth, in my
car of old candle wax, in
my car of tiger paws padding the waspy dust, in my car of
cat's teeth crushing the brittle insect wings, in my
car of leather straps, in my car of folded paper, silvery and pink, 
in my car of Alpine tents, in my car of bits and braces,
in my car of fishing line, in my car at the bottom of a
violin, in my car as small as a flea hopping on the dog, 
in my own car I want to drive
everywhere
every place there is to go.