Moondance (For Buddy)

by Dulce Maria Menendez

I used to dance the discos in Miami.
Now I ride my bike down the blocks of the Midwest.
I pass the good ole boy's house with the confederate flag.
I look the other way to the playground with children playing.
The sun is hitting my eyes and my photochromic lenses turn black.
I turn around the golf course but it is too hot for the bankers, insurance
salesmen and brokers. Cars are filling up the local dive as I turn past to 
the houses with recently mowed lawns and the buzz of air conditioners
while the scent of lilacs still lingers in the air, my headphones filled with 
Spotify1970's stream starts to play Van Morison's Moondance. I start to bop
my head like those little dogs in the back of Low Riders cruising down
Sepulveda Boulevard  and I am back in Hollywood High as I sit across
the cutest boy in class and Mrs. Baxter is talking about syntax and I 
remember how rejection pierced through my heart and although 
the pang is a long distant ache, I continue back to my little 
house filled with recently watered sunflowers as my 
dog wags it's tail when I open the door.