Internet

I’m the child who strips sticks

off maples and oaks

To slap curbs like drums

Make them mallets

To tap out the melodious

Microtones of storm drain covers

 

I preform this inside

A concrete planned pattern

Where Chestnut street

Meets Spruce street

A tilted suburban loop

Built to maintain an evenness

Defined by the coiled pavement

 

Where, with purple, silver-speckled

Five speed Schwinn,

I race round the circle, of

Chestnut and Spruce, who

Are laid down with chipped gravel

And oil’s secrets

The yards of homes blur by

Separated by

A miscellany of fences and bushes

 

Then, it is easy to surf streets

If followed truly, leading

Down to the new fort

Built of spruce and chestnut

For decorative purposes

Upon the remnants of the old fort

Where the sluggish current

Of a river, once jammed with logs

Slips underneath various drawbridges

 

I am the child who swims

In the river, along with

Eddies and undertows.

If the shore never moves

I know I’m against the current

I must catch a sandbar

Stand upon it, catch breath

Then, reenter the swirling soup

Wait for the big ships to pass

To bob like a doll in their wake

 

With the strength of child arms

Pulling myself ashore

I’m the speck of flesh, river rat, drying

On the coarse sandbank,

A mixture of Junk and Nature

Rough on my soft, tender

Spoiled feet,

Which have never calloused.

 

I yearn for cold, green lawns

Water sprinklers, who

Accidentally hit the hot pavement

If not set correctly

And my sticks, the tools

Of the melodies

Which are left

Where I last filed them

At the beginning of this poem

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18 Responses to Internet

  1. You took me back to my childhood alright, boppin’ them sticks.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Phil Huston says:

    Biking away a childhood day. If Norman Rockwell had animated, it would read like this. we outgrow the sandbox, but never forget the sand.

    Liked by 4 people

  3. deuxiemepeau says:

    Brilliant description of a precious time that kids today wouldn’t be able to understand.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Who can do that now?

    Like

  5. So tactile and real.. I like this a lot. And got me me thinking of the patterns of real life/ my youth translated and altered into the modern day virtual life of kids and their minecraft. (The technology age – a bizarre circuitry of streets and cities imitated in the “motherboard” the new programmed microcosm of what was once the livelihood of youth.. the earlier days of fun.. )

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Extremely vivid imagery. Lovely. It’s a shame the world isn’t as safe for kids today as it used to.

    Like

  7. What a wonderfully vivid description of an unfettered childhood

    Like

  8. Adan Ramie says:

    Gorgeous.

    Like

  9. dornahainds says:

    Ah, such Excellence! 😎😎😎🌹🌹🌹

    Like

  10. vivachange77 says:

    Awesome, fresh images of childhood. Your poetry is a lovely gift on a warm summer day. Thanks for the memories.

    Like

  11. To paraphrase: The child is the mother to the woman . . . . it is good to remember this, it keeps us plugging along.

    Like

  12. I enjoyed visualizing this childhood summer. Such a luxurious freedom to roam and discover.

    Like

  13. Maria H. says:

    Childhood seems like so long ago when you are an adult. My kids are two young to wander on their own yet but I hope they will use their environment to imagine and explore the way you did your poem.

    Like

  14. A clever metaphor and sensuous retelling. Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

  15. Love this line: “I yearn for cold, green lawns”

    Liked by 1 person

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