Practice and Back

The board tricks start before kickoff:
worn thin trashband shirts won't flap,
deck shoes, no holes, and jeans I can
goddamn bend in.

Rolling to the ball field hill is an
easy ride, a breeze past the spaniels,
two quick curves and lean into traffic.

I've had too many spills
on the downhill, face plants
getting this trip down fast enough--
wiping in the sand, on the curbs,
just to get momentum past the fire house.

So I show up on stage bloody,
waiting to stand and stare,
eye to eye.
You pop out of a car ride, hop
over the stopped cars on Main Street,
flip your hair off your face, perfect.

I learn my lines,
catch my breath,
sit down with you
forever and slowly
walk home.