It's long drives at night -
taking the coast road out past the shadow of those palm trees on the skyline, against the docks,
just the spoonful of rinky dink
piano music playing on the radio,
the sort of stuff
old ladies like who never married, filling up the car, just something to
stir in your tea, something to fall asleep with -
that's the way you do it,
pointing the car out at the sea
and hearing the wind stirring its own self into
sand and hearing those young buck drivers on the prowl who can hardly slow for their erections -
they do love it out at night time
with foxes in the grass, moving, with the frightened girls holding their hand, that brief spell of
tendress -
especially
when it's
good and dark
and dark and cold
out there.