all american fuckboy

bronzed reflections on a young woman

looking at herself in the

side view mirror of a pickup truck,

bumpy ride on a back road to heaven,

eager not to take the road back to hell

tomorrow morning.

his light wash blue jeans

and hands with strong lines

rub back and forth on her denim,

her hands on his,

fingernails deep in each other's backs,

hands under hair and underwear

blue jeans

are for

hard labor:

gold panning

silver smithing

copper mining

steel forging.

throwing a gem at the gravel

to see just how, or if,

she will shatter,

a million sharp pieces

go flying, glimmering in texas sun,

ricochet and chip the paint

on his pickup truck, a new

hole in the knee of his blue jeans

while he crawls like cinderella

to collect the debris

as if there's a way to repair

what took millennia for

god, a female god, to forge.