bitchin’ time

hymnals lay on the tables,
your feet left prints on the dusty lawn,
a few cars took off to the ball game
and you and I held hands
that day, you smiling
as we flipped on the radio,
old Merle Haggard growling
out his tunes, the old truck
ready now to head
for the city.

I wanted the right ring for you,
most of the stores might have some carets to
please you, but this was
special, a fandango, a rough-rockin’,
bitchin’ time, a way
to show you somethin’
other men had none of,
who could not keep a job,
who could not hold you
the way I could.

coming back, you sat
close, and your fingers
played with my hair,
the sun blinding us at dusk,
each hill erasing its brightness
at the bottom, but as we
rose, the glint hitting our
eyes, and you complained
of tears, but my heart
was full of us, and
I knew I’d have you
to myself.