I’m a week behind my goal of writing something every week, so I’m stretching my goal a little by putting up some writings I’ve already done.

So here’s a few little things for your consideration.  i would appreciate any comments that will help me be a better writer.

 

This first one is just to be silly.

 

Forgetfulness

I’ll never forget good old

Whatsisname…

You know who I mean

The one with the funny right eye that looked off to the left

Hair white and black like a skunk, except the stripe ran ear to ear

One leg shorter than the other with arms to match.

No sense of style so he wore stripes with polka dots

A lot.

I’ll never forget good old

Whatsisname…

You know who I mean

He lisped when he talked, but not the esses – it was on the Pees.

He had a habit of twitching his foot when he was talking to girls

To the point of driving them loony

He bit his fingernails to ragged edges

Like uneven hedges.

I’ll never forget good old

Whatsisname…

You know who I mean

He drove that beat up car that he painted lime green by himself

He sang out loud in church, usually a word or two ahead of the congregation

His laugh could call crows from three counties away

and played shuffle board with the old folks down at the city hall

every fall.

I’ll never forget good old

Whatsisname…

You know who I mean

He lived where the Baptist church used to be

And grew cabbage and onions every season and

Made his own stew –

Always had three or four stray dogs

But there is something I can’t claim.

His name.

I’ll never forget good old

Whatsisname…

You know who I mean

*******

This one comes from a memory of that first day of spring, and since we’re just past that, I thought this might be appropriate.

 

JOYRIDE 

When I was growing up

every spring

I’d roll out my bike from the back of the garage

brush off the bars, oil the chain, adjust the seat and

Ride –

Ride –

Ride.

 

Speed down the road

lean into the turns

fingertips on the handlebars as I go

shirttails randomly flap behind me

cap nearly lifts off my head.

a master of dexterous, natural skill –

the audience of my own joy.

 

I look back now from my vintage age

my body less limber and supple

yet I sense those long-ago motions

echoes of youthful speed invoke the notion

that in a couple of seconds I could be

perched on my bike

freely careening

 

And again I am fleet.

Once more the wind fills my ears

and the years

disappear.

 

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