.07) Questions, Looking Back

Why did we do all that? What were we looking for When we stood conspicuously outside our cars on summer nights In our madras shirts, white levis and loafers without socks Along the parking diagonals in the median lane of Balson In front of the high school that indentured us most of the year? Why did we drive in my convertible chasing endless rumors of girls Or midnight idylls in forbidden swimming pools that lapped in affluent backyards, Air conditioners humming like the breath of their sleeping owners? Why did I hate the Marquees who appeared to have real girls and newer cars And to strut, not walk, in the eternal parade through our daytime high school halls? Why did the world wait to come alive until it had drowned in Night And only our headlights could show us the way? Why did I feel my blood beating, suddenly, an inclusive rhythm The night that gang of paroled convicts who called themselves the '69ers' Came out of hell with chains to beat people up, and a guy From our football team whose name I can’t remember now Screamed “Lemme at ‘em! ” and dove into their open car window, Or the night—this was before we were even old enough to drive— When muscular, blonde Huns, no more than 18, but looking huge to us, Came screaming out of nowhere as we talked and strolled Through Heman Park at 3 AM, chasing us as we ran for our lives A block beyond the other side of the park, all the way up To Stanley’s front porch, where we woke his dad, Or in those forbidden, backyard swimming pools when a light went on in the house and we had to flee, And someone always did a last cannonball to roil the water? What combination of deadened lives and genuine yearnings Twisted around one another to open those gates of Night, And where can I find such unlimited pastures today?