(Revised)

Amy sported a vibrant red rose
in her long, dark hair
for the thoughts I had last
night, thoughts better left
said under cover of seclusion.
I tossed Amy a penny for the ninety-nine cents
of gas that it used to cost
to cruise every avenue
of this town, laughing at people
showing off cars that the bank owned
on Friday nights.
Tipsy fights broke out at the diner
behind us, even though we’d
decided not to leave,
panicked the patrons
guided their children out of harm’s way,
gesturing for serenity to the car,
not realizing neither did we.
One day, if we get our acts together, we might be neighbors.
Amy made me promise it’d happen.
I told her it could, and probably would, happen.
A decade of ups and downs had circled the calendar.
“The price of gas is crazy,” my neighbor said, picking up his newspaper.
“When I was coming up, you could fill a tank for a dollar,” I said with a grin as Amy snuggled up to me, and we both shared a radiant smile, basking in the warmth of the memories we had created.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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