Someone’s idea, we count coins between class
and fang out the carpark in the little white car
Any Bloomies door will do; we do it all the time
Hand over our lunch money for a measly two-five
We’re all Havaiana thongs and Incubus songs
and an empty coke bottle for the new buddy bong
as we pinch some hose from a stranger’s lawn
(not the first time – it’s almost all gone!)
Now cruising out east to our usual meet
windows cranked low in the blistering heat
and park in the shade of some scraggly tree
there’s four of us here, four- including me
Emerging from pocket, we inspect the prize
I call “seconds” to secure the starting line
and pluck a cigarette for contribution to the mix
Fingers and scissors making light work of it
It’s way too hot; we strip down to our bras
and the mix is too green, I’m coughing hard
“so baked!” I choke, and oh how they laugh
just another sesh in the little white car
–
–
–
[Ah memory; knocks the breath from me
the passage of time, so very heavy
a little thing, now 20 years in the past
– how could 20 years go so damn fast!?]
These streets;
the ink smudge where the motion repeats
dry, cracked heels, dirty feet
Point A to Point B
and somewhere in between:
thoughtless impulse.
I spit a cigarette
lit the wrong way in the dark
a fucking waste
the taste never forgotten.
There’s six in this group
I flat-out refuse
to get in the boot.
I’m a good girl
doing the bad, coming of age, acting out
vulgar and know-it-all
unladylike and loud.
I guess (unknowingly)
all part of the “figuring it out”
through trial and mistake
and the choices I make
as part of the shaping
taking corners without breaking –
I squeal in delight.
Fifteen
and the memory
She locked herself
in the bathroom
refusing
to open the door
I was summoned, the authority
exasperated with hands in the air
“talk to her, will you”
“Go away! I want to kill myself.”
I could do nothing
but bare witness
to the moment that later,
we pretended hadn’t occurred
the next day
normalcy returned
and I rubbed my temple
where it had burned.