Without taking
his eyes off the girl
in the handmade dress
he rolls Drum tobacco
into a tight cigarette
and exhales
just as the final
school bell rings

leans against
the hood of a
dolphin blue
Ford Galaxie,
body angled
45 degrees
like a rifle
propped
against
a tree,

smoke encircles
his slick-backed
hair then eases
into autumn air

and me slumped
in the passenger
seat watching him
watching her glide
across the lot
into a future
aside
from anything
we can imagine,

a string of
midnights
blindingly lit
by the Galaxie’s
vertically stacked
dual headlights,

my body
vibrating
involuntarily
along with the thrum
of the most important
V8 engine in the world.