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