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Jan 052009
 

by Sean Patrick Leary


I am a goofy foot.
So, I step up with my right foot,
and push the board with my left.
I push maybe a bit more
ambitiously than I should.

I’m running late again, and
tell myself I need to hurry.
But what I really need is to feed my spirit
with a break in the day
between work and study
So I park at the top of the garage
and without plotting,
dive into the downhill.

It all slides by,
the breeze rejuvenates,
and my eyes begin to blur in the wind.
No stopping now, even if I wanted to.
I carve, rocking back and forth,
finding the right balance
between the pull of sticking hard turns
and days spent nursing road rash.

My heart lets me know it is still with me,
and I lean in, letting go of my options,
present, committed.
Scrambled thoughts focus,
and the rest blows behind, out of view.

A car is winding up to me,
and I know I am too fast.
Worn wheels slip on smooth surface,
trying to scrub speed.
The oblivious driver approaches our intersection,
and I narrowly straight line through
on speed wobbling wheels.

Out in the sun I clack along,
down an overcrowded brick path.
The board is a vibrating foot massager.

The clacking gives me away
and I intently yield, cut, bob and weave
through the startled mass,
before fixing on the distraction
of the bare, high cut legs of a young approaching coed.

The guy between us wants to impress her
and jams to his headphones,
so I zig around,
into the path of spotlighted skin,
and breathe dude on your left left left
before zagging back.
Her eyes find mine already with her,
and as we pass too close
she gives me a smile I will carry through class.