Questions, Looking Back

Why did we do all that? What were we looking for
When we stood conspicuously outside our cars on summer nights
In our madras shirts, white levis and loafers without socks
Along the parking diagonals in the median lane of Balson
In front of the high school that indentured us most of the year?

Why did we drive in my convertible chasing endless rumors of girls
Or midnight idylls in forbidden swimming pools that lapped in affluent backyards,
Air conditioners humming like the breath of their sleeping owners?

Why did I hate the Marquees who appeared to have real girls and newer cars
And to strut, not walk, in the eternal parade through our daytime high school halls?

Why did the world wait to come alive until it had drowned in Night
And only our headlights could show us the way?

Why did I feel my blood beating, suddenly, an inclusive rhythm
The night that gang of paroled convicts who called themselves the '69ers' came out of hell with chains to beat people up, and a guy
From our football team whose name I can’t remember now
Screamed “Lemme at ‘em! ” and dove into their open car window

Or the night—this was before we were even old enough to drive—
When muscular, blonde Huns no more than 18 but looking huge to us
Came screaming out of nowhere as we talked and strolled
Through Heman Park at 3 AM after hot bagels at Pratzels
Chasing us as we ran for our lives a block beyond
The other side of the park, all the way up to Stanley’s front porch Where we woke his dad

Or in those forbidden, backyard swimming pools when a light went on in the house and we had to flee
And someone always did a last cannonball to roil the water?

What combination of deadened lives and genuine yearnings
Twisted around one another to open those gates of Night,
And where can I find such unlimited pastures today?
****
copyright 2005 by Max Reif
painting: "Balson Strip, 1965" by Max Reif