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!?]
I am nostalgic –
the ghost of who I
used to be
calls out from within
my memories –
tormenting me
with a sudden uncertainty
that has risen, unexpectantly
to challenge
the decisions I made
and the path
I chose to venture
once, as was that ghost then
so sure, so sure –
but now, maybe
not so anymore!
Hard, it would seem,
to ignore
the imagination
and creation
of maybe-memories
which maybe-might-be
pestering my sanity
with a life I could’ve lived.
There’s a certain shade
of teenage love
unlike any other
that time has to offer.
A passing flush
parades across the chest;
a formidable force
under the breast.
Heaving; heavy with
the weight of the First,
a confident uncertainty
of its own making
Sinking or Floating or Breaking
it becomes made.
A breathless vision;
here, well-hidden
in a canvas marred with age –
where vibrancy inevitably
has dried up like old paint
and succumbed slowly, under
silent fade.
Picture the seasoned lover
until the Last,
now warms with a pallet
of a predictable ensemble;
where a once-familiar hue
emerges as new.
Ah, the First –
a memory described
head-first deep-dive
into complete saturation,
summoned only in the tense
where once conquered all makings
now, washed from existence.