Big Sky Drive-in

The Big Sky Drive-in now sits draped in idle age,
Its mammoth screen tattered and torn.
But the static from the speaker on the back door window
Still echoes like the blare of teenage car horns.
The projection bulb has forever dimmed,
Faded out like the long shadows cast on the lot,
And the dancing refreshments have all fallen victim
To reckless, adolescent pot shots.
Still, I reminisce each time I drive by
That pink concessions stand tumbling down,
With its ghosts of juggling popcorn boxes,
On the old gravel road at the edge of town.
Any number of friends would have been “trunk-smuggled” in,
On any given, balmy August night,
Weaving their way, at intermission time,
Thru a cloud of insects flickering in iridescent rays of light.
I tread softly, smiling, thru those summer memories
Warm as neon letters on the marquee sign.
Sweet stirring images of the past,
The years cannot steal from my mind.
Poignant traces of the old drive-in still remain,
And if you listen close, you’ll hear the manager shouting “Whoa!”
To a driver who drove off with the speakers still attached
As the lights went down on the “last picture show.”

*de - august 2001