Jerry Lee Lewis: Killer Tunes

This is a good night.
The neighbours listen to Jerry Lee Lewis.
The new girl next door sits on the front porch and stares.
It's dusky.

Friends don't let friends drive - drunk.
So the neighbour asks if so and so is okay, and she IS.
She has her mom's car, and discusses her weekend plans to see Crosby Stills in concert.
I want to go with her.

Keys jingle, not hers, but some other driver, also in a mini van.
Lots of kids, so lots of ball this summer.
Slow pitch, that under hand crap.

The trees that border Parker's pavement are dark soldiers.
Standing tall and still.

Jerry sure rips it on the piano.
I find out there is no slang for piano.
Harmonica can be harp, but nothing for the piano?
Baby Grande, the Grande Baebee?
In a french accent please.

Another young girl walks by, talking on her mobile.
Crying.
'I would never call my child a brat, you know?'
Pleading.
Only a brat pleads or cries.

The sound of a can opening.
A new guy on the porch, the party house porch.
Watching me with his legs wide.
I am a smug woodchuck.
Feet crossed in the cherry red recliner.

When are they going to ask me over?

I'll stand on their picnic table.
Crash the party, but in a good way.
Just as I roll in, the REAL party starts.
Puncture beer cans, drink it fast.
What is that game called?

I'd say, why on earth haven't we ever partied on Wednesday night before?

It is nice to meet you, neighbour.