pick-up

I used to ride the range
in a Ford pick-up truck
drink long-neck beers at night
and hope for a fuck,
you worked at the diner
the evening shift to nine
one particular evening
we were both feeling fine,

We climbed into my pick-up truck
drove up the mountain top
we had a pint of whiskey
and came to a stop,
at the scenic pull-off
the view of town below
we listened to the radio
some country-western show,

The bottle passed between us
your hand was on my knee
a zillion stars above us
just for you and me,
we opened both the doors
the dome light didn’t shine
we peed in the gravel
wondered about the time,

It was just past midnight
I worked the next day
I asked if I could kiss you
you said it was ok,
I touched you on the lips
your body pressed me tight
we’d screwed a couple times before
but like the first time that night,

In the back of the pick-up truck
on a blanket that I had
beneath all those stars
to say it ‘wasn’t bad’
would be an understatement
it was grand beyond description
if you were a magazine
I’d get a life-time subscription,