we spent every summer,
all summer,
at the lake.
one of those july days
when the sun has no mercy,
turned into one of those july nights
where the cement is still hot
an hour after the sun has gone down.
my sister, sixteen summers to my
nine
in an unusual display of compassion
said "come on".
this year her summer romance
had a car,
and money,
and actually didn't hate me.
I thought I was dreaming
as I climbed into the back seat
of the canary yellow 67 Z28,
with the big chrome wheels
and four on the floor,
that rumbled and roared
like some beast of legend
when he turned the key.
jimmy blared from the speakers
and the romance echoed,
ninety miles an hour girl
is the speed I drive.
slammed back into my seat
the smell of burning rubber
mixed with their Acapulco gold
blowing through the open windows,
the hot breeze drying my skin,
rocketing down the narrow dirt road
leaving a tail of dust
glowing red out the back window.
janis was telling me it ain't nothin
if it ain't free
when I saw the flashing neon.
I knew what I wanted
before the car stopped moving,
a strawberry sundae
since the romance said "anything".
I stood outside
impatiently waiting,
my feet arched and
toes curled tight in the hot dust
counting down the number of people
in front of him and her
and my sundae.
jim morrison
was loving her madly
when he handed me my dish.
leaning against the side of the
car,
warm even through my shorts,
I took a spoonful
that barely fit in my mouth.
the sweet strawberry sauce and
clean cold vanilla
made my teeth hurt,
and made my head ache so bad
my eyes watered,
and I had never been happier.
copyright 1995 Ron Bargoot
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