memories like these

cruisin’
in a sky blue pinto

nineteen-eighty-six
or so

through the foothills
of tujunga

headed to the old rainbow

pockets emptied
at the castle

somewhere out
in sherman oaks

squandered
trying to conquer strider

level four
was all she wrote

swinging
on the rings
at santa monica
beside the pier

followed by a stop
at woolworths
for some penny candy fare

frantically we’d beg our mom
for change when came the ice cream truck

but when we finally raced outside
most often we were out of luck

garbage pail kids
lik-a-maid
bazooka joe
and pixy-stix

pelon pelo rico
big league chew
and candy cigarettes

gotcha bracelets
vision street wear
swatch watches
and jelly shoes

members only jackets
were the only thing
not neon-hued

weekends when our friends slept over
mischief would soon fill the air

regretting
forgetting
to have chosen truth
instead of dare

helpless
at the mercy
of my older sister’s
bumptious best friend

ceaselessly
accosting me
to follow her
into the old shed

i was far too busy
rocking chopin
on my tape recorder

fostering the nuances
of burgeoning mental disorders

not to mention
perfecting my hand-to-eye coordination

come the day
when playing nintendo
would become my occupation

memories like these
drift through my head
amid the desert twilight

where this heart bleeds cali love
and will until the day that i die

(pictured is myself on the left with my friend David O’Neil at Santa Monica)

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

6 thoughts on “memories like these”

  1. You nailed it! That picture, ugh priceless! The one time I have visited San Diego (about 12 years ago) I loved it!
    Oh the agonies over truth or dare! And the neon…
    But I love the Chopin thing too…my dear ole romantic dad introduced me to him. I so love that his music was in one of my favourite movies, the Truman Show.

    Like

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