from the back of a western pickup

they bopped along

considerin each other’s bare feet,

sweet Sangre de Christo July sweat moist from haying,

listenin to scratchy Howlin Wolf tapes,

cut alfalfa deliciously lifting them into the air,

Santa Fe Trail sky sprinkled with galaxies

extraterrestrial bebop expressionist lightshow movement,

and from somewhere Sonny commentin on the stillness of that night,

then his giggled response

sendin her long spidery fingers

deep inside her tight backpockets for a pack of Juicy Fruit,

and soon the sugar hit,

and Howlin Wolf’s blues guitar became Gilmour’s “Comfortably Numb”,

and they sure nough got up to dance,

and with another sunrise comin on

sleep now irrelevant,

they kicked aside the sleeping bags

all rolled up like their buckskin dreams,

jus bouncin along

from the back of a pickup

Fall, 2011

(recalling that summer in Bemidji, Minnesota, 1972)