"scooter" poems
That pure innocent smile,
Your childish face and that side profile,
Your silky hair and that perfect hairstyle,
Would never forget you.
**** I miss you!
The touch of your smooth skin,
That beautiful little chin,
Your blushy cheeks and that grin,
Still I adore you.
**** I miss you!
Those big dope eyes,
That Stupid nose ,
Those size 7 feet and pinky toes.
Your medications and Ayurvedic dose.
Wish again to feel you.
**** I miss you!
Baby I still remember,
that freezy December,
The day we fell off the scooter,
Your stupid buggy computer.
Our first date and the perfect kiss,
That raining night we spent in balcony
When you burnt the toast and macrony,
That birthday card you made me,
Helping in projects and assignments,
You taking care when I got sick,
I recall all those perfect memories of you,
still there's a place for you,
**** I miss you!
I wish you would have waited,
I would have come back,
But I can't blame you,
It was me who needed the space,
The fault is my OWN!
So I am the one left ALONE! :'(
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
To the tune of Five For Fighting's "100 Years to Live"
From "Frogs For Fighting"
Kermit Sings:
I'm just a simple green Muppet,
Good old friends with Scooter and Fuzzy,
And I'm small and skinny,
A quiet frog that's on the roam.
Animal's clearing out the whole fridge,
There's a Muppet chef inside the kitchen,
Making gibberish sounds,
Boiling a goose or baking rolls.
Piggy I'm alright with you,
No other Muppet pig will do,
MRS. PIGGY-there's never a wish better than this,
When you've got a hundred Muppet Tears TO GIVE...
I'm searching stars at the moment,
Still the frog-I'm just in love with a pig,
Dream of a connection,
A constellation for a sign,
Count goes "AH AH AH" when counting,
Cookie Monster's nomming on the cookies,
Snuffleupagus sounds like he just might have a cold...
But Piggy I'm alright with you,
You've got much might-no one can kick **** quite like you...
But piggy I'm OK with you,
MRS. PIGGY-there's never a wish better than this,
When you've got a hundred Muppet Tears TO GIVE...
Through a small Muppet's eyes
Can tell you no lies,
Bunson's Lab-a surprise,
Madness, havoc explode,
Beaker's running to hide,
We're moving on...
I'm feeling light at the moment,
Small as can be-the sky-all I view,
And I'm just reeling,
High up in the clouds-a message in blue,
...Mrs. Piggy I'm alright with you,
You're black belt in Karate and Kung Fu,
Super Grover's on his way,
Every Muppet has their dog day...
Wooohooo-oohoohoo
Wooohooo-oohoohoo
Wooohooo-oohoohoo-oohoohoo
Piggy I'm alright with you,
There's no other Muppet pig like you,
MRS. PIGGY, there's never a wish-better than this...
When you've got a hundred Muppet Tears TO GIVE...
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
I see him drive around on his orange scooter
carrying boxes of pizza to various people
he must see a lot, got the tan skin and hangs
with pretty women. The best of both worlds
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
My gorilla wears tennis shoes
He reads the paper and sings the blues
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla, he's a sensitive guy
I took him out for a wedding, and man did he cry!
Tears all down his tie
Well, he can drive most greens from the back tees
But his putting brings him to his knees
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves pork and beans
He rides a scooter in his cut-off jeans
My gorilla, my gorilla
He can make a mean souffle
He's great with omelets, but his specialty is flambe
So I eat one every day!
He's been working hard on a half pike
But his cannonball empties the pool
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla is so much fun
He buys taquitos for everyone
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves tequila with lime
He's taking classes at a school for mime
Cracks me up every time!
Well, he's looking cool in his "white face"
And his French beret looks oh so fine
My gorilla, my gorilla
Oh yeah...
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
I was waiting for him on the escalator on one side of the road
My Heart pumped at the highest rate when all at once realized abode.
Saw him looking generously dashing riding a scooter
He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and his hair were messy but modish.
And here I was standing in my usual tank top and jeans,
hair tied in a messy ponytail
just then He saw me, waved And parked his vehicle near my usual bus stop
I walked to his way with my bag full of books.
We sat on the bench and started random talks about everything except what we thought about.
He then started using his phone and I was beginning to feel ignored. He on a spur of moment stopped and stared me and mentioned about our chats and phone calls
"How it started"
"How it became more Frank and comfortable"
"How good friends we became online but never met in real life" strange isn't it?
Then I told him I have to leave and the 'awkward silent moment' and he finally spoke "yeah"
We shook our hand and he refused to let me go
So I smiled and left his hand and eye contact and stood in the row
The bus started moving and I saw him standing there only, shrugging his shoulder and leaving that place.
That was my first and last with him or anyone!!
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
that trendy heroin(e) addiction
becomes you- and your fiction
goes well with the pale
-skinned thin western booted
blue-eyed shooter
riding sidesaddle
on your scooter
does she kiss like me
and bring you coffee?
i could lay you both down
in the in-betweens
and make heaven-
til hell is heavy as a monday
track day in albuquerque
while she sells your jewelry
in sante fe where it's trendy
-i'll be waiting
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/19/14
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Ode to *** and coke
I toast the old *** and coke
the after hour drink from one job to the next
sometimes not a break just slip from one kitchen to the other
one paid the other didn't well except for the drinks
Oh how i adore you *** and coke
wake up in the morning coffee in hand blinders on
weary look up on my face, each morning other side of the wall from the coffee
lays her sleeping with someone new
my heart racing anguished and foolish , embarrassed at every turn. I turn back to my room coffee in hand
watch the clock tick until 2 pm get on my scooter to job number one a place really where I can be in my own world until closing time, then off to job number 2 a repeat of number 1
except for in the waiting after the shift was done a *** and coke is to be in hand.
Tired and weary every hour dusk until dawn.
A time where i felt no escape and no place to run and there at the end of the all shifts
old *** and coke waiting for me to take her in my hands and sip and taste
oh what grace... the numbness sifting out all of daily happenings oh so sweet.
day in day out old *** and coke came about..and met me in the night...
then one night waiting for old *** and coke on second order
came across something new
after getting second drink looked over and said hello... several years ago
Now..both restaurants are gone, things i trusted and beleived in gone,
i have moved, my friend stopped talking
everything has changed once again
like the never ending circle
oh how i wish i had that *** and coke
the bartender knew just how much it took to drown the day in each and every glass
he would pour for me
i raise the *** and coke high into the sky and toast to its existence
for it would listen and ease up all the pain.
Ode to *** and coke
by Alan Spivey 1/20/2014
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Fay stood next
to Baruch
in the Square
have a ride
if you like
on my new
blue scooter
he had said
so she did
with one foot
placed firm on
the scooter
the other
pushed away
the hard ground
moving on
the scooter
hands gripping
the rubber
handle bars
and she sensed
air in her
face and hair
moving fast
Baruch left
behind her
in the Square
he thinking
how happy
now she was
moving on
over ground
other kids
shouting out
faster Fay
and she did
as if all
pent up fears
had gone bang
and had then
disappeared
get off that
Jew's scooter
her father
shouted out
and she turned
and the fears
all returned
she got off
the scooter
handed it
to Baruch
all joy gone
happiness
had dissolved
her father
gripped her hand
hauled her off
looking back
at Baruch
hatefully
but Baruch
merely smiled
his contempt
his green eyes
or hazel
as some said
shooting off
those arrows
pretendingly
in the ****
of Fay's strict
catholic
father but
to Fay he
blew to her
from his palm
the unseen
pink kisses
of concern
then she'd gone
up the stairs
to her fate
a lecture
against Jews
murderers
of Jesus
he will say
or worst still
punishment
a beating
to enforce
his strict will.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
Where Gloria lies
Lydia once lay
Gloria's boyfriend
sleeps beside her
(Gloria)
& Lydia having to sleep
in the cot bed
feels the aches and pains
in a bed too small
and sits moodily
on the red tiled
front door step
gazing at the Square
chin in her small hands
pouting lips
the baker with his
horse drawn cart
goes by
the man with his boxer dog
walks on by
waves as he
is wont to do
his dog sniffing
the ground
her father's voice
sounding from indoors
her mother's voice
bellowing above his
Benny rides along
on his imaginary horse
& rides over to her
sitting there
what's up?
he asks
fed up
she replies
staring at him
my big sister
& her boyfriend
still have my bed
& I'm stuck in
the cot bed &
I ache & feel angry
& I could spit
I see
Benny says
getting off
his pretend horse
anything I can do
to help?
only if you kidnap
her boyfriend
& send him off
some place
Lydia says
what you doing
anyway?
she asks
standing up
& rubbing her behind
which had become
pins& needlely
I was going to ride
my blue scooter
but you can come
& we can share it
along & down
Rockingham Street
he says
she looks at him
& says
ok if I can
have a ride
even if it is blue
or
he says
I can ask my sister
if you can borrow
her red one
will she let me?
Lydia asks
sure to if I ask
nicely & promise
her some sweets
he says
ok
Lydia says
let's go then
so they walked up
to the flat where
Benny lives with his
parents & sister
& brother
& he asks his sister
who says yes
& so Benny & Lydia
ride off across
the Square
on the two scooters
& Benny has
(for safety against
bad cowboys)
his two 6 gun
shooters.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Spy Kids (the original)
A 5 dollar matinee with your mom
A box of Bunch A Crunch
Or a plastic sack of
Dip N Dots
Ninja Turtle walkie talkies
Flare denim cargo pants
Bobby Jack zip up hoodies
With blue Fla-Vor-Ice stains
And hide and seek
Now That’s What I Call Music
Volume 17
Playing from a 10in x 10in
Silver box TV
And high frequency noise
To accompany
Akon’s latest bass line
A razor scooter
The foot powered kind
When the Preacher’s Daughter
Has a shiny blue one with a motor
Weeping to Secondhand Serenade
Because your mom won’t let you have
A Wii
And your crush checked “no” on the
Note you gave them last week
Detention after pre algebra
From shooting a girl two seats over
At “close range”
With a hornet
And she was unfamiliar with the school wide
NO SNITCHIN’
policy
The words
Beastly
And epic
Used to describe what your
8th grade field trip is gonna be like
A phone call from your best friend
About finally finding Ben Franklin
In Tony Hawk’s Underground 2
Now
The OK symbol is your most used emoji
There are too many guys with long hair
And beards
White girls all have a weird obsession
With house plants
We’re all at least 50 thousand dollars in debt
And I think we all
Just really hope Donald Trump
Isn’t our next president
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:19 AM UTC
…1966…Malaysia…
1
I’m on my scooter
back home to my village after work
in town
and it rains
and I take a short-cut
people have told me about;
and along the way at a bus-stop shed
I see in the moonlight
a woman waving at me
I stop and she says:
“Please give me a ride
and drop me home;
I’ve missed the bus…
Just the first house on the right
straight down this track…”
2
I see her face and her form -
O She’s beautiful
and I offer her my jacket
and she sits behind me
and I ask her for her name
and she tells me it is Salma;
it’s a beautiful name
and I love the fragrance she exudes so close
and sometimes, as we ride down the dirt-track,
her body brushes ever so lightly against my back
3
I stop at the shed that is her house
It is still raining
and Salma jumps off the scooter
and with a wave she runs into her home
I am happy –
she has my jacket
she is beautiful
and I know her home
and I have a reason to call on her
the next day…
4
It’s Sunday the next morning
and I ride to Salma’s house
and an old woman opens the door
and she listens to my tale
and she is shocked I’d want to see Salma
and she takes me into her small home
and she shows me
Salma’s photograph on the wall
and she asks: “Is that her you saw?”
and I nod shyly
and the old woman cries
and she says:
“I’m Salma’s mother;
Salma died three years ago…”
5
And Salma’s mother takes me behind the house
and there behind the trees she shows me Salma’s grave
and there on the grave is my jacket…
“She died three years ago,”
the woman cries..
I run; I run…
and I ride my scooter like crazy;
I don’t want my jacket back…
and I’ll never ride this way again…
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 10:04 AM UTC
and so my life rushes by.
no more razor scooter afternoons,
Barbie jeep and a kickball marathon,
walking home from school in spring, swinging a Powerpuff Girls backpack.
jumping on hot black trampolines, burning our small feet,
running to the park to see if we were able to hold on to monkey bars.
no more alligator tag evenings, falling down in wood chips but brushing it off-
I have always been a tough cookie.
and I become an adult soon enough, a victim of my own past and a
culprit of my future, but nothing in between.
Honda Civic and a movie marathon,
liquored-up nights,
high as the midnight sky, staring up at stars as far as the atlantic.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:40 PM UTC
Wheels spin
Laughter Laughter
“Scooters are more fun” He says
Wheels spin
Laughter Laughter
His father sits tired and old
Bourbon in hand 4 ice cubes
To cool his tongue so he wont
Yell at us to be careful when we ride
Wheels spin
Laughter Laughter
3 bikes 1 Scooter the old kind before
Razors were ever invented
With big wheels and big handles
Unsteady and rusting
“But Scooters are more fun” he says
Wheels spin one handed Balance Balance
****
Down Down red red
And he is screaming
My knee red red
Wheels spin
“Rock in his leg” He says
Dads bourbon left on front steps
The ice melts Waste
And there’s blood on the road
On the steps on his shirt on his face on the grass
His hand is reaching
Inside red red
His knee red red
Out rock out
You have no business there
****** and ****** off
The rock leaves without saying
Goodbye or even Thank you
red red red red
****** ground and yet
He won’t cry
No tears only screams
Scooter broken
****** old thing
The wheels bent and spinning still
3 Bikes and a trip to the hospital
Wheels spin
Knees Bleed
14 Stitches
Laughter
Laughter
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
You move through the hallway
tile by tile; step by cautious step
as you explore every
sound the scooter makes;
every moment new and
wonderful.
You tiptoe, dip your toes down
and lightly dust the floor,
skim it like the first time in
the shallow pool of the bath.
Then you step, push,
slide down the hall
leaving care in your wake
like discarded cheerios and
chewed up apple bits.
You stop, smile at
this new secret
the world whispered
as I lift you up into my arms.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
freedom is a funny thing
what would dreams bring
but calamity (and loss
tears superfluous waste of water)
slow treading in treacle
hold absent flora to the wind face
cross eyed glory on a pale mask
no extending big hand
to the child who doles out water
to babes from ***** papercups
scratching scoops of brown mess
amid domesticated fauna
in the middle of nowhere land
feet rubbing for warmth
an ever going stipple wagon
a small blanket the only cover
one scooter holds too many
open beauty closing too soon
supply demand coercing blank stare
impasse holds the keeper hostage
some up - some down
no break from unbroken cycle
the dreamer lives forever on
inside the tightest cage
and knows there's little cure
yet within full ironic view
lies the priceless key to unlock
dark eyes implore me to take you
anything is possible
yes
anything
dreamer, dreamer
open dreamer
open your dream wings
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Your shirt was checked.
I hate checked shirts
I thought as I noticed you alone
In the corner with a coffee.
You must have left whilst I was engrossed
In Bryson's Europe.
Sorry I didn't notice;
Belgium is beautiful at this time of year.
I was dancing through the starlight streets
In a dress
I never wear dresses.
A coffee later
I am in Germany
Bored. Not my scene.
A boy rallies round on his scooter
Indoors!
You walk in. Again?!
Two coffees in one day
You must be tired
A briefcase - are you a worker
Like me
Kept away from December's festivities
I catch your eye
Awkward in these situations
You are sat opposite me
Purpose?
Bryson is touring Cologne. For once it sounds awful
But the 60 minute mark draws near
Though it rains outside
I must leave you here in the warmth
Back to a lonely work in the lonely rain.
Perhaps I could smile at you
As I close the door.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
I wish I could tell you
Tell you all my secrets
So I wouldn't have to face them alone
I have anxiety
Which seems to be an overused term
By people who will never understand the feeling
Of never wanting to wake up
Where reality is too much
I'm asexual
Meaning a lack of ****** attraction
Easy right?
No. Nothing can be that easy to understand
Some of my friends have left me
My family doesn't seem to understand
How I can be asexual and have a girlfriend
My mom wouldn't let me get pride shirts
She allowed me a hair bow with my pride colors
Because it's subtle and maybe no one will notice
I have an eating disorder
Binge-Eating Disorder to be exact
My mom says I'm chubby
My doctor says I'm approaching overweight status
My friends are concerned
For they know how long I can go without food
They know how much I can eat
It's not by choice
I wish I was skinnier
I wish I could control myself
I wish I had control
I talk to myself
Like a whisper
I shut out my surroundings
To listen to the voices in my head
And this can lead to two things
Resolution or Destruction
For my mind has no middle ground
Struggling to resolve a situation
That I've poured over with gasoline
And the voices have lit the match
One false move
And the voices will win
I'm too smart for my own good
But not academically
I use animals to imprint scars upon my skin
I ride my scooter too fast down a hill
So my knee slides across the pavement
Ripping out flesh
A permanent reminder
That 1200 pound horse that stepped on my foot?
Not an accident.
When I sprained both my ankles at the same time?
Not an accident.
I have a gender that I can't identify
I feel mostly feminine
But some days I just want to be able to relax
In baggy sweatpants
With a muscle shirt
And short hair
Yet I know that if I cut my hair
I will regret it the next day
For my gender never seems to stay masculine for long
I had a journal
One that I would write in since 5th grade
It wasn't a diary
But it knew exactly how I felt
And when the bullying became worse
Turning from verbal to emotional
Emotional to physical
My journal suffered the waves of my tears
The fissures of the ripped pages
The erasure shavings left on every page
Until I burned it
Lit it on fire
Erasing any trace of who I am
So who am I you ask?
My secrets lie within this poem
So don't lose it
For this,
This is my last journal
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Scrambled Eggs and Spam
hot **** what a day
I just awoke
and I can hear granddad
he's downstairs playing with Scooter
and I can smell Spam frying
granddad likes to stop by
early on Sunday mornings
he brings in the newspaper
plays somewhat quietly
with our bulldog Scooter
and starts the coffee and breakfast
Scooter doesn't bark at granddad
for some reason
maybe he doesn't want to wake
anyone else so he has granddad's
full attention
he likes it just as much as me I think
when granddad drops by on Sunday mornings
I know mom can hear him too
but she will lay in bed until he calls
up the staircase in his whiskey voice
“hey, people die in bed you know”,
“c'mon, breakfast is ready”
he would yell
granddad was our rock
since my dad passed a couple
of years ago in Afghanistan
I still miss him of course
and when I am alone in the early morning
sometimes I cry
but on Sunday morning
when granddad shows up
I know it's going to be a good day
the sun will shine
and we'll have toast
with strawberry jelly
a tall glass of cold orange juice
and scrambled eggs and spam
... I love my granddad
Gomer LePoet...
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
.
warm breeze island street
stern squeezed man steers red scooter
sidecar girl texting
.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
Tammy,Tammy,call your mammy
daddy's run away.
Buildings built of stilton cheese and Wilton rugs,bugs that run round in my head,silver diamond ten gauge thread to tie my eyes up.
Tea leaves tell no lies,
I've seen them in a broken cup where broken people all look up to watch me fall.
I call the Master of Ceremonies,also made of Stilton cheese,eaten slowly by the mice,made from chocolate covered rice cake crisps and baked in ovens,gas mark seven and ask him,
where did daddy go?
he doesn't know and never did and slowly drops off from the grid,
in hidden thoughts behind veiled red eyes where riots run with teddy boys,who ride Italian imported scooter bikes,
twenty thousand Facebook likes for what,
a **** *** underneath the bed?
more bugs that run wild in my head,
another silver,sugar coated thread to wrap me in when I am dead,
but I'm not there yet
I've got to shift the fuzziness,the interfering laziness,be blessed twice by his Holiness,undress the dressings I am wrapped in,bleach my skin and reach inside to clear my mind.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
Jack and Jill,
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
Nobody knows what they did up there,
They came back with a baby daughter.
They named the daughter Mary.
Mary had chubby cheeks,
Dimple chin,no teeth within,
Rosy lips,
Curly hair, very fair,
Eyes were blue,lovely too.
One day Mary went to play on the slide,
Georgie Porgi pudding and a pie,
Kissed Mary and made her cry,
When Jack and Jill came out to see Mary play,
Georgie Porgi ran away.
Mary had a friend called Johny,
He was handsome and Bonny,
Mary Mary,
Yes papa,
Loving Johnny,
No papa,
Open your heart,
Ha! Ha! Ha!.
But, Johnny said,
"Lavenders blue,Mary, Mary,
Lavenders green,
When I am King Mary, Mary,
You shall be queen."
Papa Jack and mama Jill asked,
Mary ,Mary quite contrary,
We have a querry,
How does your heart grow,
With wedding bells and many heart throbs,
Not now, Mary sobs.
One day, Johnny proposed,
Mary, Mary,
I'm crazy,
All for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish wedding,
I can't afford a Lamborghini,
But, if a stylish scooter for two,
Will do.
Soon, Mary had a little boy, a little boy,
It's skin was white as snow
It followed her to work one day,
He made her friends laugh and say, laugh and say,
"Mary, what a bonny lass you have.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
How hard it is to breath when streetlights flicker across the faces of brick houses
and how lucky you must be to sleep below the stars, a new patch every eve
To the girl with high heels clacking on paving slabs, remorseful ears hear all
and with a shimmering bow in your hair the birds do sing in distant trees
- a song of you
What sort of feelings are these, when hedgerow heroics are ignored
and the tin can roofs in some shanty town are rusted, with babies sleeping below
The man with lackadaisical swinging arms is singing to the fruit bats, nighttime solitude
and disabled on his scooter, the obese man sells basketballs at cut prices to teens in tracksuits
- a deal for two
When hydrogen gambling men in suits blow holes in the world and sit back laughing
and when brown eyed rebels sing Allah hu akbar in mountainside dole drum, cavernous bedsits
The seas of some eternal land will rise with cleansing attributes to wash away the ******
and intoxicating blues men sing ballads of the end, with delectable imperatives, scorned by it all
- I will think of you
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
i don't remember much from last night.
i remember going to the bar with greasy food and cheap drinks,
and flirting with the bartender, because i find homophobia amusing.
there was something about starting a scooter, and a very illegal drive home.
i woke to find an empty bottle of something or another, a case of bud ice,
and shiner blonde.
i've always had a thing for blondes.
i can still taste the fast food i must've had,
and can feel what was probably a full pack of cigarettes in my chest.
i left myself another pack, a coke, and some aspirin on my windowsill.
i'm so considerate.
i'll make a note to apologize to my liver, later.
maybe once the pounding goes away.
i've never believed in god, but if there's one thing worth blessing,
it's college night.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 2:26 PM UTC
I feel as though i had a soul mate
and i forgot them
Whoever it is, i miss our fun times; adventures, games, autumn leaves and hidey holes out of the wind, projects, enthusiasms, unexpected visits, your wacky plans, a sense of possibility in every moment, as though we could cross oceans
The days before i feared my own freedom,
before my clothes stopped making sense.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:49 AM UTC
Every child of ten knows
the universe is a jagged shape
edged by home and park
and school and market -
at least that’s the way I knew it
and all the world’s kids
went to McKinley school
and everyone's dad
worked at Lincoln Park Tool
while mother stayed at home.
So my entire universe
was shaken to shards
when father broke news
that we soon would be moving
to a distant galaxy
a dozen miles away -
entirely peopled by aliens.
Well it wasn’t so bleak after all -
my brother and little sister
were allowed to come with us
and we kept the same grandparents too.
New friends popped up everywhere
like rainbows of tulips in May.
The house was fresh and new
but seriously lacked a lawn.
so a rusty old truck rumbled up
and dumped us a mountain of soil.
Seizing the obvious challenge,
I put a shovel to its intended use -
moving and spreading non-stop
until Mom called us to dinner
then went back and shoveled ‘til dark.
The pile was nearly leveled
by afternoon next as
Dad turned his fifty-three Ford
into our driveway -
hitting the horn to call me over,
“Son I need your help.”
Dropping my shovel
I sped to the open trunk
and stared in disbelief.
In an ecstatic yelp
produced only by ten year old boys
I circled Dad's waist with my arms,
then gratefully unloaded
the best yellow scooter
in this or any other galaxy.
September, 2008
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:54 AM UTC