Sometimes
we’d even drive down
west boulevard in
rich’s blue delta ‘88
needle blanketing
30 60 90 100 mph
our winter pond eyes
and chug-a-lug hydrocodone grins
challenging every stop sign
and be-all end-all
traffic light in
view
we both agreed
we’d never outdo
the summer
of 2001
far-gone drives
cross nameless lawns
side-shoulder trips on
sardine highways
and we figured
any skimble-skamble
half-assed parody
there of
would result in
certain death
for either one
of us
we still drive through
undying fame
every once in awhile
digesting ingredients
of the past
but now it’s in
the comfort
of my well-timed
basement.