the haunted drive-in [poem]

off the old highway
where dry weeds grow
through broken asphalt
like crabgrass
among tombstones
sits an abandoned
drive-in movie theatre 

its sagging screen
looks like
a dirty torn sheet
hanging from
a clothesline
the speaker system
uprooted for salvage 

the concession stand / projection booth
burned down years ago
leaving a big dark square hole
like the empty socket
of an extracted tooth

vandals
long since
shattered
the ticket booth windows
the battered marquee
beckons wordlessly
to patrons
who will never come

yet on moonless nights
when clouds obscure the stars
one sees the lot filled
with spectral cars
coffins, as they were
and in them
solitary ghostly drivers
clutching their steering wheels
impatiently and impotently
waiting for the show
to begin

this audience
of the damned
sits condemned by
their own hardened hearts
forced to watch
forever and ever  
their sins
on that faded screen 

can they leave?
of course they can
all it takes
is genuine remorse
sincere regret
honest recognition
of what they did

still, they sit there
watching their sins
their adulteries
their thefts
their lies
their cheating
their betrayals
never admitting
yes, yes
that was me
I did that
I was wrong
I am sorry

pride
proves an arrogant demon
a far crueler tormentor
than satan could ever aspire to be

© Buzz Dixon