Topanga Corral

August nights in the canyon sizzled
with crickets and weed. Bare-naked men
and chicks danced like mad, one crazy old

night when the Eagles, Neil, and Joni
played the roadhouse. Four bucks and a joint
and you rocked into California

cowboy angst. It was the kind of night
a kid could sneak into, score a high
just breathing. Still, to make sure, you swigged

a whole Coors. And recall a Fernwood
morning, a breakfast of cottage cheese,
Doritos, and wine with your mother

at Connie's. How you and Tui stood
in front of his house and wished he’d kiss
you like he did when you were seven,

chatting with Neil and Joni about flea bites
and the loudness of metal trash cans
being pulled to the side of the road

and their next albums in the flatness
of a clear summer day that brightens
the truth and longing of their lyrics.

Published: Tidal Echoes, UAS Literary & Arts Journal 2008