A clapping sound echoes
through trees. It could be
the great outdoorsman
chopping wood, mending
a fence, but it’s not. It is
a teenager doing a halfpipe
on his skateboard, wheels
crashing rhythmically until
he wears himself out. During
his break I lay on a bare deck
in the sun recalling my own
son in his skating heydays.
He and friends wore down
the corner of a cement patio step,
ground it to a ragged angle then
graduated to the local mall
where he broke his arm, but
didn’t come to show me
until he’d driven his buddies
home. It bent the wrong way.
Bones against concrete in
the name of fun. I feel the heat,
remember the hurt of my boy
in pain. It now beats on me
along with this familiar sound.
My head turns sideways, no
this is no wilderness. Light
banging through the leaves
within my vision speaks of
civilization untamed and
the daring thrust of youth
tempting physicality.