Morning Poem, January 30, 2016


In the dead of night
In the dead of winter
We rode motorcycles
Through the dirty, mounded snow.
Why did no one stop us
Our brains not even formed yet
The hemispheres not fully connected together
What were our reasons
Only this:
To get away
From boredom
And embarrassing disappointment
And from some ordering
Some limiting force
Invisible to some
But overwhelming to us
So much that we never even spoke of it
We went to Arthur’s
Two miles outside of town
A place that should have never even let us in
But our money was good
We played pinball for hours
We’d gotten good at it
The limiting force had no power there
And then we rode home
Convulsed by shivers in that cold night
Fifty miles an hour at ten above zero
And we came safely home.

Copyright 2016

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