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)
Max, or Not 