13thWR

DOUBLE FEATURE

Two models romped with David Hemmings,
who was supposed to be a photographer,
but during the shoot the girls got frisky
and pulled him in, in French, to their play.
What did I know? I knew no French;

I was maybe fourteen or so and had gone
to the movies to see a comedy, "Here We Go
'Round the Mulberry Bush," which had it share,
too, of obligatory sex, and I remember parts
of that film as well as I do Blow Up.

I walked home on shaky legs; I wanted to
be Hemmings, to take pictures of naked women,
have lovers, and mysteries. I wanted to kiss
Judy Geeson on a porch swing on a summer night.
I couldn't wait to get home, to grow up, to live.

THE PLANE TO LA PAZ

There was a plane that left Philadelphia
in the early hours of every morning
for La Paz. We'd be out in the middle of the night,
it didn't matter where, and it didn't matter when,
and we'd hear a plane, or see it flashing
across the promise of sky, and we were always high --
it wouldn't have made sense otherwise,
as though it makes sense now -
and my friend, Frank would say, "I bet
that's the plane to La Paz," and we'd all look, check
our personal navigation charts, and agree.
One day we were going to escape,
and that flight was one of our options.
Maybe it's because I'm disgustingly straight, or too
far from where they take off and land,
but I seldom hear the planes anymore.
I don't see their flashing lights; I don't
look into the wonderful night sky
as much as I used to, as much as I'd like.
Tonight, though, I see the La Paz flight
moving past the dimming stars. Thirty years:
I know which light to make my wish on.

- Louis McKee