Anniversary ~~ anna hood

One headlamp pointed upward
sliced a merciless iron sky.
Moths skittered the yellow light
danced Foxy Ladies to a siren's blare.
Jimi Hendrix music bled
from the wounded car
a beetle in the ditch
tires spinning.
Cops in blue, faces
tight. One said, over and over
My God, my God
they're just kids. Another
Irish brogue, For Jasus sake
turn off that fekkin radio.

Onlookers stopped to gawk
fingered crosses, wiped tears
trampled stiff orange tongues
of Indian paintbrush, gave guilty
thanks it wasn't one
of their daughters 17 years old
like three piles of rumpled laundry
one shiny black, one blue, the other
red long legs narrow as veins
cluttering the blacktop.

Fir trees, ghosty in the gloom
paused their shiver
folded their branches
and listened
to the last silent laughter
of silly drunken girls.

Indian Paintbrush a wildflower
dyes my yard this time of year.
Reminds me of
Marsha, Steff, Patty
Foxy Ladies.