Joy Ride, High

Inspired by memories of my youth.

 

‘78 blue Ford pick-up drives with one eye open;

a cure for double vision.

quaaludes stumble over heavy drink.

opening doors along the way;

puking over shadows of pending dawn.

Fishtailing...50... 60... miles per hour of downward curves,

on high Mafia hills.

Blurring golf course intersects Vanderbilt “Vande’s” Cemetery to the right.

Big Paulie sits in his secure compound to the left.

Loud “Twisted Sister” blaring through cracked mono speakers.

“Long hairs” fly against the night of open windows,

Two, four, six, maybe eight of them huddle to hang on in the back bed,

consuming invisible smoke from joints and cigarettes,

as we, slide along pleather bench, to clanking bottles.

Soon... to curse our own self-imposed corrupted youth in the morning.

William Teague, © 2011