White Zin

All calked off,

when, in reverie,

your voice,

my brain buzzing,

I followed dark turns

for more,

in black and white haze,

I could hear you above it all,

the ring announcer on ceiling mic,

the crowd going wild,

foaming at the mouth,

snarling dogs ready

for an unmatched match,

two opponents,

bikini wrestling trunks,

slickly oiled chests,

meaty legs,

one slated winner,

the other will be loser,

and you, your mom, your son,

finding your seats,

squeezing to slide in,

dodging intoxicated moves

from one who was more show

than the show,

and your mom, aghast,

echoing what you said,

"This is crazy,"

We used to meet in shadows

covered by the side of your house,

facing fields that kept our secret,

but that was a different kind of crazy.