When I was 12
my parents, siblings and a Springer spaniel
crammed into a Ford station wagon with fake wood paneling
for a new development in Mississauga;

The lots were leveled
4 bedroom skin and bone construction,
all house with no backyards -
the gardens as yet percolating.

Richard, Rob and Peter
3 Greek
brothers ranging from 16 through something
I'd call a 1970's miracle
a modern day Great Gatsby!
moved next door with their
cars.

Mom said their front lawn looked like a used parking lot;
white globes
courting mysterious poofy haired
pencil thin women
wisped in the grips of their jiggling flattery.

Draped in the sheer gauze of butterylicious bronze
I would spy their comings and goings from our living room window
imagining I was with one of them
in places out of bounds;
untouchable as Al Pacino, The Bee Gees, and Donny Osmond
God they had beautiful
teeth.

Eventually I got caught
pulling a radio flyer rattler through a drive in movie
flogging "peanuts! popcorn! as their rockabilly thunderbird
couldn't stifle its steamy wonder to save her squeak;

I dropped
the flashlight
scuttling the mice in runners
that rolled up me like a tampon
drowning in her own milk.

I couldn't wait for my bod
to fill out as my dreams
danced like high heels from their rear-view mirrors
not the flip-flop seats
in our trunk.

Mostly it was a leg
taught muscle and sinew
arched from under the chassis of an MGB convertible
that kept me company. most of the time
that was enough
for me to paint my toe nails fire engine red
all the rage back then
my pigtails still restrained
and though leg never said it
and I never asked
I knew that I could moonhover beside him
(being the youngest one)
the badger that I was
like a bug at his beck n' pec;

Afraid of my shadow
fetching something or other star
shaped green handled screw
driver - had not the faintest clue
what the hell kind of mechanical orgy was going on and on; down there
was new territory for me too
tinkering this or that;

This
was our kinship
our unspoken pooling
weakening rotor slots;
we'd swear to Rob Peter, "BY GOD!"
was the bobble on the dashboard
ever going to wake up!
the speakers
dripping in a windowless honey?;
fog roll down the glass?
to lie in the tall grass
kissing with the pheromones at the spring odeon.

04/27/2013

Posted on 04/27/2013
Copyright © 2024 Elizabeth Shaw