I’m set on the idea of poems about skating; though I personally don’t have the skill yet to make it work, I like to try. Here’s one of three I wrote this weekend after some back-to-back trips to the Orem and Logan parks.
Raising My Generation
This guy with surfer hair, my age, maybe just a little less, old enough to fear the pain, young enough to let that pass, kicks off fierce, rolls right in, almost soaring over the fat, rusted coping floating down to the transition, which entices to the flat there he pushes twice or thrice, lifts his knee for extra speed, drops down to the lower bowl: a rushing waterfall that slings around the wall and launches up and over the hip, I gawk at how he tucks a little grab to show he meant it now he pops above the lip, lands, board in hand, nods at me to go.
