Why are Ted and Charlie prowling this dirt road as night-woods
glower on either side?
Have they come to score some dope, or scope what’s going on
inside parked lovemobiles?
Does tomorrow’s math test dampen in Ted’s hand?
Is shame what makes them leave the road and crouch like toads
as headlights scar the dark?
Is a gang fight brewing out here, where cops rarely show?
If they know it’s their friend Lonnie’s green Ford crunching to
a halt,
And know Lynn Walther sits, balloon-breasts mashed against him—
why do their guts quiver, their feet twitch to run?
Do short skirts, Fs, and nice girls’ hisses make a whore?
If Lonnie asked her to a dance, why are they here?
Why, five minutes later, does Lynn screech, “Fuck you”?
When the car-door light pops on, and she flounders down the road,
why doesn’t Lonnie let her leave?
Why does he plead, “It was a joke. I’d never share you”?
Does she stop running because she thinks it’s true?
“Do you see other guys?” Lonnie demands, leading her back.
“Would I do that to you?”
What do Ted and Charlie think as they shrink and hunker low?
Will things resume inside the car?
Do Ted and Charlie, their “ten bucks apiece” in Lonnie’s wallet,
want them to?
When Lonnie’s headlights lance the air and his car grinds gravel
as it pulls away, aren’t the boys glad to see it go?