That Red Pickup Truck

When I was beginning my teens,

Late middle school, early high school,

Just down the block from our house

There sat a red pickup truck.

It might not have been

Brand new or shiny,

But it sure as hell

Wasn’t weak or tiny.

I fell in love for the first time

In that red machine,

Think I was right about

Fourteen or fifteen.

Spent a lot of time

With Clint and the boys

In that old truck,

Going along for the ride,

Wherever that took us.

We were usually cruising dirt roads,

Just out to try our luck.

Of course, we spent plenty of time

Doing a little squeezing,

Some hugging, and a bunch of kissing,

Among other things.

Fount out what that kind of love really means,

Putting your heart out there

For someone else to steal,

Becoming old enough to realize

That your soul actually feels.

When the chance came

To be sitting in that red truck again,

I couldn’t make myself do it.

I kept thinking about the past,

Of being with Clint.

It wouldn’t have felt right,

Sitting in my “old” spot,

But this time with Westy,

While I daydreamed about another guy

Making love to me every night.

I always liked to sit in the middle,

Right up next to Clint,

So when he shifted, his touch against my leg

Was enough to give me butterflies in my stomach.

Some wonderful memories I still have

Kissing on him while he was trying to drive

Discovering his ears are a bit ticklish,

We’re lucky we’re still alive.

Or my panties

Hanging from the rearview mirror?

After I kept them, he must have been confused,

Maybe even thought I was some kind of “man-hater”.

I wonder if he ever figured out

That’s why I gave him another pair to keep

Almost fifteen years later.

-Jen-