Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Ride

He cups the bowl

With a pocket bible,

Pulls in a few more short gasps,

Trying to fill every last inch

Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest.

He rises up, as his lungs expand,

And puts down the pipe,

Caressing the tiny bible in his hands,

Absentmindedly.

 

He smiles...

A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips.

 

He slides the pipe across the table,

I turn it down...

I am only twelve.

 

"Suit yourself"

He says...

His voice like vaseline on silk...

A hair mussing, makeup smearing,

***** tearing voice.

I think,

*'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'*

 

"Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about."

He says.

 

"That's what what's all about?"

I stammer.

 

He smiles,

And I shiver involuntarily,

As if waves of cool radiate from that smile.

This guy was a small town demigod,

Mind you.

 

The coolest car,

The blackest leather jacket.

He was the front man

For a local rock band,

And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks,

With little hearts, and declarations of their love.

 

"Life, man, life.

If you like killing, or kissing,

Smoking or ********

Do it.

If you do you will stay loose.

You stay loose , you be cool.

You be cool, the world is gravy,

You dig?

Life is a custom Mustang

Made just for you.

You got to ride that some of a *****

Until you run out of gas.

So always take the roads

that lead to things you love,

And forget what the road signs say...

Make your own detours."

 

 

Four months later,

He was killed in a car wreck.

He was drinking wild turkey,

While getting road head.

They found a half ounce of grass

In his hip pocket.

The girl walked away with nothing worse

Than a broken arm.

They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face...

His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go.

 

The next day I spent the money I was saving

For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar.

After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with.

I hopped behind the wheel that day,

And since then, I have lived my life, my way.

I've had enough downs,

To prove my decision making skills are flawed,

But I followed my joy, and the things I love,

And I have no regrets...

Hell, I'm still alive,

And I ain't ran out of gas yet.

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
will-mercier
American
Published
Aug 18, 2012
Lines·Words
73·415
Notes

http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbFk5_beD67w&v;=bFk5_beD67w≷=US

Peace and love,

Will

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell will-mercier how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write