back seat at the drive in

she wasn't the best kisser
in the world,
looking back on it,
or was it me?
our teeth clanged together
as the garbled static
of a speaker
dangled in the window.
her braces
mashed bloody against
my lips.
our noses bumped,
our chins
rubbed.
too much spit,
we were eager lizards
in the back
seat of my 1970 maroon
Camaro
at the drive in.
perched on a hill
in the back
row so as not to be
disturbed.
the diabolical nature
of her layered garments
confounded me.
zippers, buttons,
snaps and clasps,
it was hopeless.
it would have been easier
to gain access
to fort knoxx.