IF YOU CATCH IT AT THE RIGHT TIME IT'S LIKE A DREAM,
not necessarily a pleasant one. An entire town made up of Laura Ashley
virgins and their more fortunate counterparts.
Heat waves rise from the roofs
of parked cars turning them
and passing bored faces
into active mirage
The whole place is hungry
like the summer that stifles it.
The heat and bodies and faces
suffer it with a pleasure rooted in
the pain of old men.
Motorcycles roar past small children
growing accustomed to the sounds
to which they will contribute as fully
licensed voters, fists and all.
Their faces contain the mix of innocence
and toughened flesh needed for their future here.
Somewhere secret plans are already being made
to join its ranks.
What must be purchased and paraded aloud
begins to take up the space left vacant by lilacs
and fading wishes. It is too much.
As it has always been.
Blood itself is maturing here.
The asphalt sees to that -
its reason for being.