For a six-pack
Kurtle and his kid brother
drive me and Colt to the Allsups
down in Altus where they don't know us.
It's a fine evenin'
and we ain't got a care in the world.
I waltz in and buy the beer with that fake i.d.
I bought offa Trev Jackson.
The beer's cold
and we knock it back
and we're set to have ourselves a time
when here comes that toad Chase Sherman.
It ain't all coincidence.
We ain't the first to think of this trick.
-
The toad goes in to pay for his gas and beer.
Summer's windin' down
and school's settin' on the horizon.
I give Colt a look
and he ain't no mind-reader and this ain't his style
but he's with me.
Where I get the notion I don't know.
Where we get the nerve
is the beer I expect.
We sidle over
and slip inside that old Chevy of his
and drive off simple as that.
It don't take much beer
to make a sensible man turn fool.
-
Then it's night-ridin'
down back country roads
tossin' empties at mailboxes
howlin' at the moon
singin' songs to the radio
talkin' on girls in general and the ladies in particular
actin' like perfect idiots
with no regard for the civic laws
and social mores of our great country
drivin' all night
comin' home drunk and sleepy
leavin' the car runnin'
in front of the sheriff's office just to be cute
and the sky's all pink and glorious.
Hanque O . . .
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/regina-s-poems-001-friday-night/
