August Nights

English: Hollywood Drive In on Route 66 in Ave...

English: Hollywood Drive In on Route 66 in Averill Park, New York, United States. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Above the falsetto chirps of toads or frogs or
whatever finny-footed Frankie Vallis pitched woo
to their polliwoggy groupies, we laid there
in the back of my brother’s F-150
seeing nothing but stars and hearing naught
but our breaths twined in Summer love.
August heat draped over us like
that old Army blanket we made
cumbersome love beneath, while
Warren Beatty’s tinny words washed
over us from curly-corded drive-in speakers.

I recall we watched Bonnie and Clyde and
we thought ourselves real cinema bandits
on the way home, tossing $3.87 in coins
to the pimply kid in the drive-through
and hauling ass out of there while he tried
counting them up to pay our $5.59 bill.
“We rob burger joints,” you laughed
like my own Faye Dunaway, stealing
my heart for the fourth time our Junior year.
But looking back from this lonely porch
on this August evening, recalling all our
other days and nights now done,
who’s counting?

 

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9 thoughts on “August Nights

  1. “we thought ourselves real cinema bandits
    on the way home, tossing $3.87 in coins
    to the pimply kid in the drive-through
    and hauling ass out of there while he tried
    counting them”

    I love this, Joe! I love how you are so detailed, rich with good ole nostalgia, and a shake of humor sprinkled on top. Always a pleasure to read. Thank you so much.
    ♥ <—you're the only one who got a heart so far.

  2. Pingback: #FWF Free Write Friday #27: Word Bank | catnipoflife

  3. Days gone by, their moments. I’m sitting here remembering a few now. All the drive-ins here have vanished, but still the moments remain. Never even knew what a McDonald’s was, then again they were new down here, and a long way south from the bush I grew up in, a small village on our Highway 66, a place where the earth is red, and the dirt is hard. Thanks for sharing, Joe!

  4. I love this prose/poem combo. It reads like a short story but also has a rhythm. And “whatever finny-footed Frankie Vallis pitched woo
    to their polliwoggy groupies”…this segment way groovy.

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