I loved to ride my Schwinn bicycle
I guess I was only nine
I ride it down to the pond
where I spent a lot of my time
I also loved a girl back then
She had a dog named Polar Bear .
Of course it was white
Until it was run over
by a school bus whose driver didn't care
I loved living in Florida
The salt air from
the ocean there
When I left the Sunshine State
I left a huge chunk
of me back there
Now I am a hand in my pocket
Always reaching for something not there
Home is where you hang
your hat
But I found no pegs to hang it
Inside of your lair .
If only we could put poems
in a bucket
Then throw onto a raging
fire
Would the flames die out
Or leap even higher .
But it seems words cost us nothing
More plentiful than the grass on the ground
Our lives have become instrumentals
Where there are no words to be found
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
I loved to ride my Schwinn bicycle
I guess I was only nine
I ride it down to the pond
where I spent a lot of my time
I also loved a girl back then
She had a dog named Polar Bear .
Of course it was white
Until it was run over
by a school bus whose driver didn't care
I loved living in Florida
The salt air from
the ocean there
When I left the Sunshine State
I left a huge chunk
of me back there
Now I am a hand in my pocket
Always reaching for something not there
Home is where you hang
your hat
But I found no pegs to hang it
Inside of your lair .
If only we could put poems
in a bucket
Then throw onto a raging
fire
Would the flames die out
Or leap even higher .
But it seems words cost us nothing
More plentiful than the grass on the ground
Our lives have become instrumentals
Where there are no words to be found
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