Pop the Clutch, Ron

Drunken teenagers
We rode through the night
Silly from cans of instant wisdom
Racing from light to light
Throwing challenges to all
When we stopped
For the light to turn green
Then tires would screech
As a wonderful roar echoed
From the metallic green Ford
As we shot down another would be
Then cruising through the Dairy Queen
And along the drag
In front of Garland High
Funny but those are the times
I remember
Nothing about school
Nothing about football games
Or the sock hops after
Just the racing down Garland Avenue
With the cans of canned cheer
The three of us drunk
On two cans apiece
So many years ago
And tonight
I read in a note from an old friend
You were gone
My high school running buddy
Damn it, Ron
I don’t want to think about that
Let’s go back
To one of those nights
With your hand on the Hurst shifter
And let all those horses pour forth
From the old 292 bored out to a 312
As you always told everyone in sight
Pop the clutch, Ron
There’s that old Chevy
They think is so bad
The light is green
Pop the clutch
And let’s howl at the top of our lungs
Then we’ll pop the top of another
Tepid beer
And make one more run
Through the parking lot
At the Dairy Queen

Michael Mathews
July 24, 2010
Saturday nite 08:45 PM