Date Night

One by one the teenagers on the block
hop into their cars and made the stop
at the corner before they pull out to join
the procession of lights on to the main highway.

She watches from her bedroom window
television droning on, counting heads
in each sedan as they drive away
into the night looking for adventure.

Parties crashed, lover’s lanes, smoking hash,
talking trash, dancing hard, laughing loud,
vomiting at the side of the road before
coming home ten minutes after curfew.

She leans against the window frame
and imagines some smell like alcohol,
girls with lipstick smeared,
boys needing cold showers.

She wants to be young, ripe, and succulent,
ready for tasting all the joys of life without
wasting a moment to dwell on its dangers.
The point in life to be invincible.

If she could go back she wouldn’t waste a moment
worrying so much about the size of her breasts
or whether her clothes were fashionable,
was she in the right group? Was she cool?

The moon shines down on empty streets,
a few steamy cars still parked curbside.

She recalls that night in June before
she graduated from high school.
His name was Jeff, she knew better,
but didn't use protection.

Late in August when she gave him the news
he drove her home but never returned, left her
to raise their child alone. She couldn’t bear it,
considered jumping from the freeway bridge,
but changed her mind.

So here she sits on Saturday night
at home, watching the world outside
wishing for her freedom again but no time
to dwell, she hears her daughter crying.