Mm, let's see.
It's such a beautiful night and it's so clear.
It's what I love about Arizona.
I live in Virginia now.
And though we have our share of clear nights there,
we don't take them quite as much for granted as I think we might
or as I used to do when I lived in Arizona.
One of the things that I remember about a clear night,
when I was a child, was going to the drive-in movies.
And we usually went whenever my mother had her Sunday church
group over for a meeting.
And they would, the ladies, would, kind of,
rotate these meetings among themselves.
And she would have this meeting about twice a week which,
of course, meant it's sort of--
I don't think they ever really did any business.
[LAUGHTER]
They ate a lot.
[LAUGHTER]
And I just remember that the house
was cleaned up days beforehand.
And she cooked and cooked and cooked.
And afterwards, we would come back and eat all the leftovers.
But my father would take my brother
and me and we'd flee, when the ladies started arriving,
and we'd go to the drive-in movies.
There's really something to be said for seeing Ten
Commandments under an open sky.
[LAUGHTER]
The Red Sea parted under the stars.
Pretty awesome [INAUDIBLE].
And the other thing I remember is The Revenge of the 50-Foot
Woman, which is a wonderful--
[LAUGHTER]
Seeing a 50-foot woman under the open sky
was pretty amazing too.
So the drive-in in Akron, Ohio, they're all closed
now but, the one we used to go to was the Montrose.
So this is "Two for the Montrose Drive-in".
'Tupperware.
Three days before it was pick up and scrub,
the tops of doorjambs wiped clean
for white gloves come to test disarray.
Dad packed up the kids and fled the cheddar cubes,
plastic forks suspended in Jell-o,
that was judgment, ambrosia and trident.
But oh, it was delicious at the drive-in.
Sliding in pajamas down into the pit,
waking just in time to see great Pharaoh crowned and Charlton
Heston rosy in his holy rags.
Now, that was a good story, that kept us awake until the end
credits.
The moon huge as it wandered down
the black gullet of avenue.
Bright eyes following the windshield.
We made it home to the ruins of the feast.
Crustless sandwiches smelling faintly of ocean.
Platoons of celery, mince, and dip.
They always finished the cake.
[LAUGHTER]
The soggy lemon crescent lolling in the red bottom
of the drained punch bowl.
And the house a mess.
We ate like kings for days.
Charlton Heston's Holy Rags.
Our lucky man puts in his first appearance.
We cheer, ski the front seat's vinyl
into the plushy pit beneath the dash.
Just as sure as we're missing the chalky mints, discreetly
placed between the moistened lips of the Reverend
Sisters of the Eastern Star, he'll
save us from plopping frogs or locusts, clouds
of hissing told-you-sos, invading bed or pajama cuff.
This time around, though, he's neither good nor wise.
He tromps palatial corridors, a smooth-cheeked boy
in Roman bronze, all greed and good looks.
No green smoke wiggling over a host
of snakes ready to be turned into walking sticks.
Instead, he lifts his hand and an urn, kicked,
stutters across the tiles.
The car speaker crackles scorn.
What brand of righteousness is this?
Squeamish, we stuff our mouths with more buttered corn
and count the things gone wrong.
There's a sister rotting away in a cave,
too many sweaty people being whipped, that skinny stranger's
burning gaze.
And then, just when we begin to doubt him,
we watch as doubt struggles up to crouch inside his own baby
blues.
Oh, now he rises to his chiseled best,
takes redemption's arrow deep into his manly chest
as rain comes down in torrents.
Lightning timed to tell each flash of news.
The rock rolled back, the lepers' new-washed skin.
And through it all, the tears, the flood,
Thy Kingdom Come in gold and cobalt streaks,
he stands aglow with blessedness with could it be remorse?
Whatever for?
And in an instant he suddenly grows old."