Shut Up and Kiss Me
— a country music sestina
It’s hotter than hell, and we’re flyin’ down that two-lane,
windows rolled down, me in your college, turned-back ball-cap,
you with one hand on the wheel, one hand on my…Let’s pretend it’s a truck
you’re driving, giant tires and a tailgate to drop and prop some ice-cold beer
just pulled out from the creek on a string, a brand new bottle of Crown,
and your ass so I can lean in between your knees in those just-right jeans,
pull your shirttail out, strip it off, ’cause you don’t need it or those jeans
anymore. Baby, it’s just us and the fireflies in July off a backroad.
Let’s turn this song up and dance in the headlights, crack that Crown
and drink it down, straight from the bottle. Take your ball-cap
off my head, hang it from a limb or toss it in the bed with the beer,
run your fingers through my long, brown hair, press me up against the fender…
Lord have mercy, your small-town-boy moves make me want to chuck
this sundress in the back with your cap, slide those worn-out blue jeans
right down off your hips, run my fingertips over your…Damn, this beer
is so cold. Lift up my hair, hold the can to the back of my neck. This backroad
aint’ never gonna leave my mind, and you ain’t never gon’ get your ball-cap
back. I’ll put it on, remember how you moved in the moonlight. I’ll drink my Crown
and Sprite in the dark by myself. ’Cause you ain’t worth the whiskey
once you get up in your truck and put me in your rear-view.
But right now, right now we’re both a little drunk, and that ball-cap
still belongs to you. The creek is rolling along in its bed, and your jeans
are puddled in the mud with your boots ’cause when you’re lovin’ on a backroad,
you want to take them off fast and then take it slow; shotgun that beer
and sip that whiskey. There’s no in-between. It’s a cold one
on a hot night, it’s the last time butted up to forever, it’s whiskey
burn and the brief chill of sweat-slicked skin at night off a two-lane.
It’s two o’clock in the morning, and I don’t ever want to leave this truck,
but you’re getting up, shaking out your blue jeans,
pulling on your boots, and holding out a hand for your ball-cap.
I pull my dress back on, shape the bill of your ball-cap
with my palms. I put in on my head, and you shake yours. Beer
cans rattle in the bed. You pull me to the edge of the tailgate. Your jeans
feel good under my hands, and baby, you can frown
all you want, but you’ll never forget my body lit up in your headlights,
my silhouette burned in your mind in July off a two-lane backroad.
Yeah, you’ll miss me and your ball-cap. Every whiskey you sip,
every cold beer you drink, every truck bed you see,
every single time you slide off your jeans, you’ll think of me and this backroad.
