Press it to your lips, breathe in deep,
let the smoke fill the car with guitar riffs
while you tear down the street.
‘This stuff will give you a lift,’
says John from the driver’s seat.
I pass him the joint and turn the volume up.
Good hard rock pumps our blood with a wild beat
and the heat of summer night keeps us on top
of the world, the six of us, crowded
in a rusted, five-seat pickup,
pushing eighty, with the music loud, and
the backseat flirting getting rough.
We’ll pinch and tease the girls ‘til they
sink, slyly, into our arms
and enrage us with eyes begging for mischief.
So we give them mischief, and pull the car
up to a gas station. John turns to me to ask if
I’m up to try this place.
‘It’s just right.’
We step to the asphalt in pace
with the radio’s thump, the white
glare of the floodlights hard
against the damp black night
and the shadows of trees. I start
to review the plan, but I know it alright;
the door jingles lightly as we step inside
to rows of multicolored bags of chips.
Inside it’s cold and quiet. John coolly strides
to the back for the drinks, and I pick
out a pack of cigs from in front of the counter.
The man is reaching, John is ready, then lightning quick,
we bolt from the store; round the
corner, find the truck; ‘Hey you ********
But he’s too late, we’re racing away
and flipping him off. Our laughter
is loud, the girls are blinking in the spray
of beer popped open. That’s just after
coming back all smiles, the victors;
flying into the truck, I sat
a girl, Joanne, next to me. We soaked her,
freed her, ourselves, with foamy suds,
the alcohol, and young nights on the road.
There, signs and shadows rushing past,
we sing to the radio: “I hope I die before I get old!”
and drum on the dash.
Throw the bottles out the window,
who cares what happens!
Spread the glass shards, let the whole world know!
Press it to your lips, drink to the intoxicating purr of the engine.
You laugh, listening to the tinkling
as bottles shatter, one by one, on the pavement.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
Press it to your lips, breathe in deep,
let the smoke fill the car with guitar riffs
while you tear down the street.
‘This stuff will give you a lift,’
says John from the driver’s seat.
I pass him the joint and turn the volume up.
Good hard rock pumps our blood with a wild beat
and the heat of summer night keeps us on top
of the world, the six of us, crowded
in a rusted, five-seat pickup,
pushing eighty, with the music loud, and
the backseat flirting getting rough.
We’ll pinch and tease the girls ‘til they
sink, slyly, into our arms
and enrage us with eyes begging for mischief.
So we give them mischief, and pull the car
up to a gas station. John turns to me to ask if
I’m up to try this place.
‘It’s just right.’
We step to the asphalt in pace
with the radio’s thump, the white
glare of the floodlights hard
against the damp black night
and the shadows of trees. I start
to review the plan, but I know it alright;
the door jingles lightly as we step inside
to rows of multicolored bags of chips.
Inside it’s cold and quiet. John coolly strides
to the back for the drinks, and I pick
out a pack of cigs from in front of the counter.
The man is reaching, John is ready, then lightning quick,
we bolt from the store; round the
corner, find the truck; ‘Hey you ********
But he’s too late, we’re racing away
and flipping him off. Our laughter
is loud, the girls are blinking in the spray
of beer popped open. That’s just after
coming back all smiles, the victors;
flying into the truck, I sat
a girl, Joanne, next to me. We soaked her,
freed her, ourselves, with foamy suds,
the alcohol, and young nights on the road.
There, signs and shadows rushing past,
we sing to the radio: “I hope I die before I get old!”
and drum on the dash.
Throw the bottles out the window,
who cares what happens!
Spread the glass shards, let the whole world know!
Press it to your lips, drink to the intoxicating purr of the engine.
You laugh, listening to the tinkling
as bottles shatter, one by one, on the pavement.