walk in the park

I can feel my hand begin to cramp
as I crank the oversized
monte carlo window open

Sand beaded sweat
attempts to release out of my overheated
high school pores

all of the life sustaining moisture
is nowhere near my head
and my Jim Morrison sits right beside me

driving way to fast
he's pretending to be completely laid back
but I notice the nail chewing
between suggestive glances

it matters not
where we were headed
but he's a closet romantic
who packed a picnic


meanwhile
I'm thinking
how far could this park be planted

and this unbearable heat
is making my teenage makeup
start to melt

unlatching the seatbelt
finally

headed to the perfect spot
I envision
might harbor shade

think again
as he trails off into the blaring sunshine
marking his territory

lays the blanket on the ground
as I lay down next to him

this rocky terrain
grinds happily along my spine

suddenly his lips press so hard
while pianist fingers play upon my sunburned skin

everything
becoming perfect
until the moment when I'm sure
we should seek out some privacy

but our breathing exchange
is cutting off oxygen to the brain

He's completely hard pressed
against my heart
and our scattered clothes become part
of the foliage

nature's sounds
and lover's calls

begin to drown out
exposures worries


thankfully
even if just momentarily

that day
that park
was rightfully
ours





I really miss my Jim
*Scott Houston 1967-1992*