I drove down
Memory lane
Thirty years later
Past the vacant house
Made of rock
Behind dead grass
With regret—
Her name forgotten,
Buried by time.

After the final bell,
She walked in the street
Under the widow makers.
Hips swaying
So sunlight splashed off long legs
Just right.

Occasionally glancing
Over a shoulder
Watching for my
High School chariot,
The dark green,
Fifty-seven Pontiac
That thundered.

Blue eyes moved
Past friends
Settling on me
While her blond hair
Cast shadows
Hiding mysterious
Messages in her eyes.

Loud boy talk vanished
The guy riding shotgun stepped out
So she could
Slide across
Mexicali leather
Until our hips touched.

In front of her house,
Tires sitting in dirt,
The engine idling like the panther
That it was
Other voices broke the silence
Suggesting
A drive to the mountains
To gang-bang her.

With hooded eyes,
She stared,
Body frozen
Like ice
Trapped in a vice
Waiting for the verdict.

Dark glasses hid
Anger
As I stepped into the dust
Next to those tires
Offering escape,
An opportunity lost
To fools.

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