Remember the Movies?


Did you walk with me
on streets where cars
cluttered roadways,
where men wore uniforms
to keep us clear of
train tracks, men who
directed traffic who
sometimes never made it
home. . .

It was a time without
a train traveling on the
overpass across State
Street, when people dared
to make it first, some
killed instantly.

It was a time when young
men and women kissed
between brick buildings
steps before entering a
movie house. . .

Remember cuddling, I
leaned my head on your
shoulder – you purchased
popcorn – we sat in the
balcony so no one knew
we were kissing.

I know you remember…
Yes – before the over-pass
men and women walked
holding hands, only to let
go in front of the Strand.
In ice or snow, sleet, rain
or stifling heat from a
summers’ sun – everyone
walked to the movie house.

Lines formed outside the
Strand, or any movie house –
lines formed not for free
candy because you purchased
a ticket early –
lines never formed back
before the over pass because
of James Bond –
lines formed because of bugs.

Remember – who owned the Strand?
Lined all the people up –
against a marble wall, as if
we just came over on the boat.
Each one had their head checked,
and then the owner walked up
and down the aisle with a
pump filled with some disinfectant
as he sprayed the entire movie
house – he did not want bugs
in seats. . .

The proprietor had to
check – be sure – you were
clean enough to sit with
all the children of the city.
First he pulled you from
his line up, but that wasn’t
enough – I often wondered
what it was he sprayed?

We kept going to the movie
house, watching silent movies,
holding hands, kissing in the
balcony – we wore tattered
sweaters –

I know you never would
forget those days. . .
I will never forget you,
even though you disappeared
as if taken by a dark
shadow behind red velvet –

Our grand children never
knew the Strand, silent
movies – lines for bugs –
they learned to kiss in
Drive In Theatres while
steaming windows of a
borrowed car.

And – bugs came through
windows of every car –
where a speaker hung.
Our children still held
hands, walked down street
but were no longer checked
for bugs.

Imagine – a shift comes
between young lovers who
ride in what they call,
bucket seats – my grandson,
he grew older too – and
even Drive In Movies are
scarce. . .

I hear they carry their
movies in their pocket?
I guess Movie Houses and
popcorn, holding hands –
or even steam’in windows
have disappeared.
Like you, behind red velvet
when the movie ended.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

Leave A Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This website uses cookies to improve your experience. We'll assume you're ok with this, but you can opt-out if you wish. Accept

Angie's Diary