I drove through the dark of night once to return there. Car barreling into the dusty parking lot, I came for the soul reason to see women like me in the dance hall of the American Legion. I grew up under those sh!ngles, wrapped my thighs around the impo+en+ barrel of the stripped out tank perched by the road. I hugged the adrenaline pumping memory, watching women grind hips together right where my brother and I once twirled hand in hand to my Dad’s band playing on a Friday night. In summers it was corn on the cob caught in the corner of cheeks and Sundays were reserved for brunch with Grandma after church. And for one night, it was ordering a drink and slipping my hands around the hips of don't ask don't tell women dancing under the American Flag of the American Legion.