the moon struck night

we never
pondered our future
much
as we rode around
in a dodge
dart
with friends
at the age of 16,
pounding
the dashboard
to in na goda da vida.
i had the drum
solo
down pat, and
then Santana
would come on,
singing about
her evil ways,
and the chorus
in the back seat,
would hit
the high notes,
playing
their air guitars.
we mostly circled
our ten mile
world looking for
stray girls
who might need a
ride somewhere,
anywhere and then
we'd eat,
out of luck
and hungry at
some greasy joint.
occasionally
we'd roll a window
slightly down
and let some air in,
some smoke out.
at some point, we'd
all find our
way home,
tapping the car
farewell as
we went up the sidewalk
in the moon struck
night.