2 The Last Night at Porky's Lords of the custom cars, where will they cruise with Porky’s gone? What drive-in’s neon haze will fold them in the glow of ancient days? Where will they flaunt the metalflake chartreuse, the pink/magenta, two-toned as a bruise, or stroke a curve, or fondle a streamlined grace? Beyond the final love-feast in this place, where will lowriders slide through velvet-blues of summer dusk, with the Big Bopper blaring? Bare-domed, gray-ducktailed, who will love them back to full communion with the holy names— Packard, Studebaker, Pontiac, de Soto? Shutters come down. Now they are staring at sunset, candy-mauve, painted with flames.
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