Poetry. Kind of.

I originally wrote this poem as part of poetry challenge on the blog of my friend Hayley. It doesn’t have a title and I completely forgot about it until today. I don’t write poetry often, and by that I mean never, but I genuinely enjoyed re-reading this. I hope you do as well.
Relaxation does not always come around by 5 pm
Though if I had my way it would come much sooner.
People often say things like “That’s so cliche” but
The secrets of life are hidden behind that word.With my Zebra stripe gum that no one
actually knows the real name of,
I hit the road on a piece of bamboo
with wheels, red wheels that remind
me of the sky around 8 at night, or
whenever else the sun decides to set and
look really nice, and also make me think of
a wood burning stove.I ride the board to the left and right, front and back,
until I come upon signs that basically say,
“You shall not pass” and I turn around, looking,
searching for a way past, like Lewis and Clark,
except I know where I’m going, and I don’t have to
worry about not eating lunch, unless I fall and crash
and skid across the asphalt. In which case the burn
of road rash will send me straight on home.

My shoes contact the street, rubber on
gray like duct tape, once black, pavement.
It’s a chill time on the streets at sundown,
but sweet as well, though only in feeling and
not so much in taste. Which reminds me of
these thoughts: If revenge is a dish best served
cold . . . And if revenge is also sweet,
Does that make revenge ice cream?

It’s a time of full of my own ruminations,
when nothing else matters but that slight tail
wind. I think of missing him terribly, the one
who gave me music that in effect changed my
life. I find my mind both blank and full because
of it; because of the one with the green hat.
That green hat means a lot and represents the past and
the future. So who would have thought fabric
and string and cardboard could mean something?

There’s a 50/50 chance when the return comes that
things may change. It’s exhilarating and ridiculous all
at once, yet nothing will change that fact that I do care.
Passing through streets with lawns out in front, large and small,
I wish for fresh cut Wisconsin grass and even the sound
of a lawn mower with the threatening of large storm. Because I swear,
Wisconsin cut grass is something special with rain clouds on the way.

There are people with kids who see me going by and riding around,
and I’m pretty sure they hope their kids don’t follow too closely in my
push offs and wheel tracks. Let’s face it: a less than one inch thick piece of
board with grip tape is not much. But it’s enough and gives me more
than one would ever think could be a product of such basic things.
So no it’s not a time of relaxation, not really. It’s an adrenaline rush of the most
basic kind and gives a lot to me from not so much while at the same time giving
me nothing for all I can give it.

Maybe it’s humanistic psychology at its best, but I
wouldn’t really know since we kind of skipped over that
part on New Age day of American religious history since
that war between those above and below the Mason Dixon.
So like Augustus Waters said, we don’t get to choose
whether we get hurt in this world. But we do get to choose
who hurts us. And I like to think that applies to my recreation,
and maybe to those with hats, as well. I know I’ll get hurt,
eventually, but at least I chose it. And had a great time along that paved way.


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