"the road through south county"

"the road through south county"
written true by jake kilroy.

my engine yelled harsh like a barroom brawler
as my tires pushed their way through the crowd
and i let my hair wave at the green of south county,
where i noticed the road before me in the drag of my eyes,
as i recalled cruising it once many years ago in a mustang,
smoking a cigarette then, just as i smoked one now,
to rescue a girl from a barbecue a city or two over,
because i had nothing better to do than be a hero back then.

and when i swept her off her feet in the passenger seat,
we took in the heat and brought our own, as we ended up
on a balcony that didn't belong to us, breathing sunshine,
before devouring a pitcher of poorly made margarita,
just because we could then, long before we had senses
and needed reasons to love and abandon and hail freedom.

so i'm spending this day ear-deep in new order and the pixies,
to keep the memory alive of a drive that meant nothing then,
but later came to weigh down the heart, in a springtime breeze,
of a working man hellbent on nostalgia and an afternoon swim.