Walhalla

One of my first High School Friday nights,
we embarked from Staab's house, a caravan
headed for Walhalla in search of frights,
the girls especially eager. Slowly turning man,
I wanted to be wherever they were.
We wound through the bush down the holler,
wild between the parallel struts of High
and Neil, busy mother roads. She was shy
and so was I, but somehow more affected,
senses pumping her heart with excess legend.
Parked under the bridge, Charlie directed
us to imagine a boy swinging in the wind.
Giddy with fear, she grabbed my arm for security.
I could not wait for her to do what she did to me.