We had Heidi in the back of Bing's Buick,
near the highway,
parked behind a municipal ball park,
within a grove of apple trees
that someone she'd known had planted.
Fucked up on fortified wine,
I persuaded Heidi to part
with her clingy blue blouse and matching
And she gave us our first sexual sighting.
Drunk, we were hell-bent
on having her.
Initially our desires came out as questions,
when was her first time and did she or
didn't she like it or him or
what he did to her.
And the longer we talked to her, our words became
pleas, then pleading.
Years before, my older brother had packed
blue jean pockets with rubbers, but left them
packaged and unfurled
next to Fran Mitchell's bed.
And even before then, my mother had fulfilled
longing on a blanket beneath her parents' back porch.
seemed as distant
as the waxy, full-color pin-up women we'd smuggled
Den's Five & Dime in the sleeves of our winter jackets.
as best as she could, she opened herself up to us;
offering us a
tomb in which to bury our virginity.
Peering past him riding bareback
past Heidi and out the passenger's side window,
my turn, I sobered, listening to the half-tons and semis chugging
screeching their way towards Scranton on I-81.