Keyser Valley: 1963

A string of blue lights burning

into dusk: the used cars

huddle, fading as they shine,

a river of debris illumined

by its glower, a wash of dreams.

Some kid in jeans slicks

back his forelock, listens

to a tune: “Love, only love”—

his Chevy plowing

through the tall imagined grain

of what he wants:

the loose-hipped women

he has seen in books, their eyes

like fishhooks, nails

of horn. He slips

through gears, the motions

of his blood, teeth clenched

or grinding. Junkyards

glimmer from the roadway banks,

spare parts, accessories,

a blush of chrome,

bright universal joints,

wire wheels and mirrors.

“Love me every day,”

the hot wind’s singing.

“Love me every night.”

His engine throttles. Moonlight

drapes the valley with its gown.