Trip

Brazen he walks, shoes cut sharp as sails
roaming with the sky, careful
knees that tilt rather than bend,
windward.

White horse with dark mane, coattails
braced by his hull
holding his mast sturdy, his crown perched
adorned in sunglasses and
full lips.

With whip and smartly clip,
he curls his eyes around what lies before him,
never glancing,
like the face of a mountain.

If I cannot catch
his attention, I think I’ll slip my leg
twixt his

send him straight to the concrete.

I’ll avoid the earthquake his body creates
by springing to his aid,
mentioning
black ice.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s