We were gay in the car. Streamers, which kids tied to bus windows
on the final day of school, floated on a nearby pond and slowly sank.
We smoked European shag and listened to Detroit techno.
With our seats reclined, we screamed to each other, high-pitched,
like dying baby hamsters, blowing smoke ring after smoke ring
through cracks in the leather upholstery. Feasting on blue tuna
and drinking pop, we stared toward the roadside where, once,
we choked a goose. Back then, one friend bled into the next.
We sat in cars a lot, and now, we sit apart, revving our engines.