First Love Story At The Movies Poem by John W. McEwers

I can still picture the old theater's gold marquee
thrusting over the sidewalk, a brittle matinee ticket,
and in a dim enough room-smell the seats,
the satiny wash of crushed chocolate and sweat,
candied lip gloss and floor wax.

If virginity was a thing to be lost
I'd still keep it, meticulous habits complying
to my packrat's retention of useless little things.

I recall the feel of swampy popcorn,
the echo of Will Hunting's tears,
and my pride, my pride
in purposefully misplacing something.