Last Of The Drive-Ins

Silver Moon Drive-In.

Rivet and I
Were in the back seat
Of Krumpie’s beat-up monster
Of a rust bitten Nissan
Shooting dope
Before the movie began.

I had told Krumpie
To keep the music down.

After the fact.

Management had already
Visited our vehicle twice
Telling us to turn ‘that shit’ down.

That they were a ‘Family Friendly’ drive-in.

Normally
I wouldn’t give a fuck
But I really didn’t need
Them to come over
While we were banging
Speedballs into our arms
In the backseat
Of some
Second hand
Junk-punk mobile.

So
The cassettes overloaded with punk rock
Were playing on low volume
As I helped Rivet
Find a vein
And get a hit
In the semi-darkness
While happy cartoons
Of dancing popcorn buckets and hot dogs
Advertised soda and Jujube candies
On the big screen.

Our high took charge.

The three of us stumbled up to the front of the screen
And dangled limply on the vacant swings
As the trailers
And commercials played.

There was something profusely greater than us
As we hung out there
Spinning
Lazily
Legs dangling
From the wooden decks of the swings.

The screen
Loomed up so high
And wide above us.

It was religious.

We watched the movie from there.

The enormity of it.

The angles.

No sound.

Eventually
We laid down on the ground
Surrounding us.

It felt good
To be succumbed by the earth.
Rooted.

Just the weight disappearing.

The gravity felt comforting.

I think it was sand
But it was so long ago.

The three of us
Laying there
Like snow angels
Making up our own interior dialogue
To a cheasy low budget horror movie.

Each one of us
Later
Taking away
Our own
Exquisite
Experience
That could never ever
Really
Be expressed.