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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