In a Jeep with Jilly,
a love tale on the make.
She said, you wanna 
cop some weed
I know the road to take.

​

You see that flight of stairs, she said,
that leans like it might fall. 
That’s the one you 
gotta use,
be better if you crawl.

​

And watch out for the rats, she said, 
the pit bulls make ‘em tough.
You know, I said, 
with further thought
I think we got enough.

​

We found a pasture by a stream
that breathed a woody scent.
I watched the dancing 
water shine while
Jilly raised our tent. 

​

The stars came on like birthday lights 
as darkness swooped and spread.
We sparked a flame 
with maple logs,
and played the Grateful Dead. 

​

Inside our tent the lanterns blazed.
Light textured Jilly’s face.
I saw a dreamy 
sadness there 
melt off without a trace.

​

She smirked and lighted up a blunt
then cracked open a beer.
My heart plucked tunes  
of loneliness
I wished that she could hear.

​

 

Instead we heard the gentle stream
that softly hissed like rain.
A wind soughed off 
the mountainside.
We heard a distant train.

​

Drugged out, we lay down for the night.
Her skin glowed sweet and sly.
I asked if I might 
venture close
and feel her lovely thigh.

​

With morning came a ranger man
resolved to spit and scoff.
He glared, then said, 
no camping here.
Jilly told him to shove off.

​

Booted out of paradise, 
our gas was running low.
She murmured soft, as 
if alone, 
I got no place to go.

​

Hell, I said, what’s going on,
you’ll see me very soon.   
She dropped me in
the parking lot,
while laughing like a loon.

​

Dusk rolled down the blacktop
as I was waiting there.
I stayed through pangs 
of hunger.
I cursed the chilly air. 

​​

Her mystery still trails me,
a light in every dawn.
When I turn fast, and
no one’s there,
I smile and then move on.