our last date

it was decades

ago,

but i remember

it like it was yesterday.

it was our third

date

when we made love

in her car.

we parked under some

trees at the end

of a dead-end street.

she was worried about

acorns falling.

i told her not to worry.

those are birch trees.

it was a new car,

with a polished black finish.

i remember

how nice it smelled,

the buttery

soft leather, Corinthian?

the reclining seats.

the twelve Harmon Kardon

stereo

speakers playing softly

classic rock.

plenty of head room,

leg room.

it had everything

but an espresso

machine.

i asked her to turn

the dome

light on

so i could look at the

stitching

in the upholstery

and the navigation system.

she gave me a look, but

turned the light on anyway.

she lit a cigarette

as i wiggled back into

my jeans, still

stuck around my ankles.

i told her

how much i loved her car.

i gently stroked

the leather dashboard

and said,

wow,

this is one nice car.

how many miles per

gallon?

hey,

i didn't know you smoked.