Fade in
the last drive-in
concave silver flash images
illuminate rows of cars cobalt shadows
a million strangers faces families a million years ago
the edges of that last drive-in theater
framed by orange groves and eucalyptus trees
salt butter congealed speaker static Serpico
Al Pacino's voice conflicted
cracks over my parents' whisper I pretend
to be asleep in the back seat
I can see my dad's hand on top of my mom's
the divorce only a year away
while my sister snores like a butterfly
next to me steaming part of the window
I look across the parking lot
the projection booth shooting
shifting lasers above everyone's heads
in that ephemeral eternity
I see the girl
starry kiss staring back as she
chews on her hair
pretending to be asleep just like me
our parents oblivious to the
7 year old daydream love connected
by diaphanous thread the vision
swirls away with Santa Ana gusts
flaking eucalyptus bark and candy wrappers
the screen darkens the exodus of brake lights
tears the girl from me my crush melting
starry kiss hand pressed against the glass and
mine towards her
the last drive-in succumbs
undignified extinction
the strip mall and condo complex
only a year away
a million years ago
wondering where she is now in the
orange grove withering black rust
long lost to mold and dust
fade out.