Barely Illegal

for Bruce

I.

They tripped to the river
in two’s, three’s, five’s
Never alone on a summer day.

Wanting to be dangerous, risky, inventive
crossing boundaries to feel alive
With white shirts worn for stains and memories.

The water didn’t rush or plummet, offer a challenge
some guidelines make no sense until they’re broken
While old teenagers tight-walk the cement dam.

Feet wet, toes cut, heels hard with incident
matching up with no intention of romance
A cluster of kids walking a path not allowed for grown-ups.

All sun, smiles, fish, and friendship
not programmed for real law-breaking
A video camera present to mark the debut.

II.

It became “our thing”
grasping illegal labels
Feeling tough, or just bored.

The 1986 Honda Accord with pop-up lights,
a hatch-back trunk for firework gazing,
And indestructible bumpers.

Man, it wouldn’t die
treating cliffs like a springy mattress
Taunting us with its screaming, resilient transmission.

The ’82 Oldboatsmobile second strongest
wobbling over the pavement
Like the jet ski we beat our bodies with.

III.

Speeding, seemingly drunk,
chucking illegally burned CD’s,
And dancing on the dashboard.

Stuffing heads out the window and food in our mouths,
soberly crazy on the blacktop
Giddy with no plans.

One accelerates, leans back, brakes
eyes closed while the comrade steers
Shouting directions over the hip-hop and country.

IV.

Never sleeping before three, never waking before noon
the first one up barges in and starts breakfast
Showering at the other’s house to make the day interesting.

Dying hair, cooking junk, and instant messaging
pounding music against the walls
Dancing in skimpy clothes and trendy shoes.

Making fun of moms and our own sexuality
only doing chores together and when ordered
Often huddled in the dark basement with a movie on a sunny afternoon.

V.

There as two, you and me
june through august
Being lazy criminals.