That cinnamon, autumn afternoon

Linda Ronstadt crooning “Blue Bayou” through the speakers of the stereo

You and I curled up under a beet-red blanket on the floor of your daddy’s carport

Cigarette smoke still lilting from the ash bucket twists around the naked lightbulb above our makeshift bed

You kiss me with the slightest tremor and I ask you what you’re thinking about

Somehow I don’t believe you when you tell me, “Do elk need jackets when out in the rain?”

But trust me, I understand, sometimes the words just get in the way

I kiss you back, light another cigarette, smile and say, “Goloshes, too!”