Second Base at the Monroe Drive-In

Paul Newman fills the screen,
that Mt Rushmore for beautiful faces.
His head is taller than I am.
His eyes are lakes.
I could climb onto his lips and live there.

He looks embarrassed clutching a chalice
in Roman robes, glances over the fin-tailed 
chevys, makes his escape.

Bigger than life Paul is coming my way.
The car is a sauna. 
It shakes in time to my heartbeat.

He sweeps me away from my friends
into the shadows behind the refreshment stand,
hands slipping beneath my crinolines. 
He unhooks my almost-bra.

The Virgin, facing her Hero.

Will it hurt when he does it,
I wonder. Will my blood form
a cross to mark this moment a shrine?

Sexy Pier Angela stares blank-eyed 
at Paul's empty space on the screen.
The movie stops. Search lights flare. 
He rearranges his robe, rushes back.

We never made past second base, but 
my smile overflows with secrets and silver.



Pris Campbell
©2009







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