Thrasher

Summer pools in the skatepark

Saturday afternoon

Sticky and bitter

Hawthorn flowers, or lime

The fragrance of rapeseed on the air

Mixes with motorcycles,

who, agitated as wasps

Stress along the busy road,

heavy the breeze with the smell of burned gasoline

The concrete glares,

Children swoop in from ramps

My son among them

Searching out speed

The hot air when rushed through

Is a small relief

This could be California

The blue sea inviting and cold

Lies lazily while

Shirtless skaters perform on repeat

Under the gunfight sun

Pause in mid-air, laugh off each bad landing

I come here to fly

Though my own wheels feel stubborn and unfamiliar

I fell last summer,

My board and I refuse to work together

We have an awkward relationship

Cautious to be injured twice

But the lines become more fluid, daring

And within one meeting, we’re talking again

Though trust takes a long time to rebuild

And for now I stay low on the ramps

In search of encouragement

There’s a ‘Thrasher’ t-shirt in the window

Worth chancing another fall for