the drive-in flickered under twilight’s
touch, whispering secrets to small towns.
backseats brimming with cheap laughter,
soda spilling over trembling cup holders.
trunks opened like tiny confessionals,
hiding young bodies and reckless dreams.
we were rich with mischief, hearts untamed,
chasing starlight between popcorn kernels.
the cop's beam sliced through our joy,
and guilt gathered at our shoelaces.
he sent us home, pockets emptied,
but freedom hummed in our throats.
small rebellions stitched our youth whole,
each moment worth the price of trouble.
in that town of hushed gravel roads,
we carried the screen’s glow forever.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: November 2nd, 2025 04:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
Nostalgia breeds in this poem of a time gone by. Not only the setting but of a time of rebellion not outgrown but transformed into a modern metamorphosis in a techno world of streaming where mischief takes other forms. Love the flow of this poem Gray. It took me back to another time.
Thanks Soren. It took me back to the drive-in here in New Orleans where I used to sneak friends in my trunk and purposely drive over the humps just to shake them up. Long gone and turned into condos.
You are most welcome. We did the same then when some would go to the food bar we would lock the doors. I remember driving off with the speaker once. A fun read that screams out from the past
Six in the car, and one in the boot, as I remember.
Very nice. I turned 60 this year, so I still vaguely remember… thanks for reminding me and painting a nice picture with words.
Cheers,
AHB
Your welcome AHB , Cheers
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