Low and Behold!

New cars are growing lower by
An inch or so a year,
While I, in bluntest contrast, grow
More nearly like a sphere;

I beg you, manufacturers,
Please change this ground-bound course;
Why build a car that forces me
To look up to the horse?

By '61 on rutted roads
With centers high as C,
Who’ll be down there where once the car
Got scraped and battered? Me;

Just look at my position, too;
I’m never at my best
Round-shouldered as a bagel with
My knees against my chest;

But if in future model plans
Still lower bodies win,
I’ll have to take it lying down—
How else can I get in?