The first time I heard “Jump” by Van Halen I was seven years old,
Squeezed between my brother and father,
going sixty-five miles per hour down a highway.
Windows down in my father’s bright red truck,
And the smell of dirt and trees in a Georgian summer
Filled the truck’s taxi as my hair flew in my face.
The July sun filtered through the bright green leaves,
Embellished the winding, curving roads.
We passed a little white church
As my dad turned the music up louder.
The Sunday morning crowd stared at us
As we sped by.
By the time we arrived at my family’s lake
We reached the end of my dad’s mixtape.
I heard “Safety Dance” for the third time that morning
And “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” for the second.
My dad put the vibrant blue disk back in its sleeve,
While my brother and I grabbed the fishing poles out of
The truck bed.
I almost toppled over trying to carry my lawn chair
Down the hill.
I stared at the big white house through the trees
While my dad put out deer seed for the next hunting season.
My brother knocked over a few worms
And I tossed more bread into the lake.
