Now 1988

1988 with a cigarette. Always with a cigarette.
I spent Saturday at Sandy's though it went nowhere good
melting ice cream from the ice cream trucks
kids laughing at the park poolsides
summer sings to lovers and we were lovers then



Bright sunshine Sunday Speedo tight getting ready for the beach
cars rolling by we got some beer and wine in the cooler
Topsy-turvy time growing up in the shadow of the bomb
but it was all really part-time jobs and sneaking fucks in the park
or bedrooms with mom and dad gone or that shed that no one could really see

Singers sing of perfect memories and perfect times but I just remember Monday
work done saving for school
making out on the subway not heading home but heading to your place
crashing early you left the TV on late night

Twilight on Tuesday and the patio is full
Danny singing again with Gil and Sam but they are never going to be anything other than high school stars
The waitress asked for your ID but not mine
You laughed after at the thought anyone could think you were named Breta.

Wednesday whimsical every week that season looking back
talking so intense so serious
seeming just a wish or a will away
falling asleep reading poetry classics
listening to the songs of parents and thinking we understood them more
listening to the new songs we heard them first

Forgetting things that would be left undone
You always hated getting up long mornings lying together when we could
Trains and buses take us
But Thursdays thrilling thinking forever love half price drinks
Funny those half price drinks

Saw you the other day
Friday driving home from work
Cell ringing my daughter calling
looked over to the oncoming lane
and you were on the phone two kids in the back
I thought you looked over for a second before you were gone