you've seen that movie,
Denim jacket, jean, muscular wrench cord boy
picks up Pink, tank, top too shy for eye shadow girl
pick-up purrs with the pace of the river his
exhaust fumes foam with the trail of an airplane,
above cul-de-sac jobs and wife boxing slobs
above the height and width of letter box screens.
But the scenes that the drive-in didn't show us
bore the woe of those who stayed behind, to
watch dawn hatch from the slain yoke sky, with
eyes as faint and dry as flaking feces and
their faces fell again as the uncensored darkness
grieved on the pines as the light left their minds.
My girl used to sit in the window like a lamp.
As I watched encamped in the damp Dixie forest
As I watched more weeds cake the brier high May
until it grew thick as the strands in her hairbrush
until distant Arabians whinnied her name.
A sound reduced to engines as centuries ended, and
her house was as empty as a spent box of matches
as matching editions hit her porch early day
A paper which suddenly had the same date
from this fate on.