Pine Island Drive In

You wrestled the speaker into the car,

then hung it in the driver’s side window.

It was bulky and felt empty like a football

helmet.  Its round volume control

was made of Bakelite – the same as old

phones – and seemed on the verge of

falling out of its socket.

Before it got dark the reddening sky

above the white screen was beautiful.

Children played on jungle gyms and

seesaws down there and happily waved

at their parents in 1950-ish cars with their

front wheels raised on berms, looking

like circus elephants about to rear up.

After it got dark, late comers trolled

the aisles like bottom fish with parking

lights on looking for a good spot.

Interior lights came on at intermission

as people headed for the concession

stand.  You didn’t want to look into

your neighbors’ car, but there they

were.

You left with windows rolled down,

following brilliant red taillights in

single file.  Back on the black open

road home, the world seemed empty,

and complete. 

FG        6/12/2016

This is about the only use for parking lights that I can remember.

I’m sure kids today would consider going to the drive-in a bizarre, low tech way to watch movies.

Is this poetry, I dunno.  But I seem to be on a poetry is memory kick and with this definition, it probably is.  I found a couple of pictures of the Pine Island Drive In on the net.  I guess this made me want to write this.