by Vincent Antonio Rendoni

I don’t keep photos of you but
I keep that summer in your hometown
Main Street on the Fourth of July
with the Thunderbirds & Fairlanes moaning
& groaning leaving all that oil in their wake
before the wine money came in & swept
all that was small & charming away

Your parents hated me so I felt nothing when
we stole a bottle of their wine
sweet & white & you guided me to a back road
somewhere in the sagebrush & wheat
& we lay on a blanket
& I pointed at the white & red lights
pulsing in the distance

I thought it was lightning or UFOs
& you called me a jack-ass & said
that’s the penitentiary
where real men are hung

You sighed & put my hand to your chest
& said you need to get out more
Asked me if I ever dreamed of Paris, Africa,
Antarctica, no
I only wanted an acre here
where things grow

You laughed at that
& leaned back
& I warned you I wouldn’t last long

You said it didn’t matter
it will last
as long as it lasts