The NY Literary Magazine

A Distinguished Selection of the Finest Modern Literature

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poems about memories

JAWS by Debra McQueen

We watched it opening night
at the Capitol Drive-In.
The VW’s black vinyl
stuck to the backs of my thighs.

I sat in the passenger seat,
a habit from when I was little.
There was a smell
I hoped my parents wouldn’t notice.

I was allowed to hang
the heavy speaker on
my half rolled down window,
to control the volume.

We brought our own cans
of pop in a cooler stashed
on the floorboards.
Slunk low during the trailers,

Dad reached through
the bucket seats into
a bowl of popcorn from home
balanced on the parking brake.

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