Summer is sweaty wet money and long fingernailed men. Pool parties for employees only. July fourth, everyone on. House sitting and dogs. Confessions in the candy aisle – circus peanuts teases. Surfer boy with one blue and one green eye and bleached blonde hair. Movie star customers unnoticed. The girl in a pink smock preaching about eyebrows as the Musak sings Cat’s in the Cradle. Amusement park freedom, taking old-timey, sexy photos with girlfriends. Nights warm enough for sundresses, roses waiting with the boy on his tailgate until heartbreak and August flying east.
Moving on, fall could be so carnival cool. Confidence in suspender pants and sunflower halters. Playing pool, talking boys again. Wanting to be the magic in his song. Church Halloween dance as a princess but should’ve been an astronaut (or fell for one). The songs on the playlist, someone’s mixtape and that boy from drug store, kissing after the dance on the driveway. And the love plays on, sitting on her floor listening to records or laying on her bed watching Billy Idol’s Cradle of Love. Late nights, he slips out her bedroom window, leaves crunching under foot, parents fast asleep.