The Search

We had no bed to lie in, so we drove --
The night was downpour-dark, the back roads mud
Below a bed of gravel -- tempted by
A drive with old machines covered in crud,

We slipped in, stopped, "It's too much Texas Chain
Saw Massacre," you said, so out we backed
And off again we searched the woods the road
Too often spread into. And so we tracked

And  found the driveway we had left. There, both
Embarrassed and hard pushed by hormones, we
Bedded in the back, too old, relationship
Too young to care -- through rain, no one would see.