Drive-In


the Rose Bowl Drive-in glowed with innocent seduction
a block off Main Street

at some signal each Saturday night 
one's car would fall from the street into its parking lot
   and join the hot rods, jitneys, family cars and borrowed pick-ups

   nosed up to the round building like cats squatting before a bowl of cream
the waitresses (somehow it was a glamorous job)   hooked trays to car doors 
     bantered and preened     then left us to our cokes and fries

 we eyed the competition:   Jims '52 Merc with fender skirts & headers
      the maroon Chevy coupe   or maybe Miles was there in Deliverance

or we reached for a bare knee in the dim anonymity below the window line

at the Rose Bowl --  amid a tangle of Friday night games, Saturday night dates   shakes   fights   honks   and lonely hot dogs
     we chased each other toward adulthood

in the rosy heat of its neon tubes i laid my hand between Colleen's thighs
and the child i'd been was sent away

(did he cry and cling to life and hate the manhood he could not evade?    not likely!
   he was an ancient child and i    an infant man    and we both knew the score:

those thighs reflected all the boyhoods ever lost)


our cafe jousting-field was littered with our youth   with panting sorties into sex,
with colors struck and colors blazoned

and innumerable silences

 





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