Scott Whitby, 2020
That tailgate on Summer nights
When nothing was wrong
Cicadas or crickets sang a song
A little cold after dark
But we'd be there before long
Rode the tailgate Summer nights
Foot drug the ground
Corn in the field lent its perfume
Dry lightning in the distance
Smelled the Honeysuckle bloom
Drug coat hangers on the road
Bewildered by the sparks
Invisible until the sun went down
Never fell off
Soon we'd be in town
Watermelon for two dollars
Why not buy two?
It rode home in the front seat
Would it bust right?
And be good enough to eat?
Don't sit on the driver's side
Risk tobacco spit on your neck
Or lean too far out
Don't drag both feet on the road
For no one would hear you shout
Tailgate to a softball game
Or maybe hear some music
Joy like there'd never be again
Wind and bugs rushed by
That tailgate, good as a friend
The tailgate through the country
Stars and smells and sparks
Thought it would always be
So perfect
Childhood so good and free
Or was it really?
Or is it a child's defense?
Was it just a short reprieve?
Do I remember all it was?
Was that tailgate a short relief?
So long ago now
Seems so risky
On that tailgate, bumping along
But was it really so perfect?
Was there really nothing wrong?
I think really there was
I wish really there was not
I want to forget, who would not?
Riding the tailgate was so good
But the other things are best forgot
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