A cool moon truck bed on a summer night, a hard wall beneath one\'s back under a cover still invites dreams.
The buzzing of the insects dies away as the night becomes more bearable and the stars are reflected by the metal.
One of us turns and sighs a snore into the sky. An uncle asks if anyone is awake then closes his eyes. Rhetorical.
Two of us sneak away to peep at the bar in town to dream of things that teenage boys dream of at a certain age.
A young woman beckons us. We are too shy and hurry home to the truck bed before sunrise.
The sun bathes us in morning heat and we sleep until the August oven is too hot.