Polished Chrome

Upon the knee-high stone wall,
down along the neon street,
out in front of an ancient church,
we sat on summer Saturday nights.
We watched polished cars float by,
with whitewall tires and fender skirts,
as Buddy Holly wailed to the night,
in tones that ebbed with gliding chrome.
We didn't know where Korea was,
we only knew we'd better look good,
it was our chance to strut our moves,
and the dawn always came too soon.
The tired old church has closed her eyes,
the teens are all in shopping malls,
arcade games with fifties themes,
of Buddy Holly and polished chrome.
Today we buy Korean cars,
we reminisce in coffee shops,
the kids today, they're not the same,
yet maybe the same as we've ever been.
The lights and sounds have all changed,
but the young men still strut their moves,
while the girls watch the ones they adore,
and the dawn will always come too soon.
David Chiasson