boy, she was fast

the grocery clerk,
a mere boy of eighteen
tells me
that it's his first
day on the job.
he scans my groceries,
bags them,
and carefully places them
in my cart.
i'm saving for a car, he
tells me.
my girl friend wants
me to get
something small,
something good on
gas. a foreign car,
perhaps.
i smile, and remember
my first.
maroon with baby moons,
stick shift
and hot tires,
she was Irish with
long black hair and green
eyes, boy
she was fast.