an “i want” poem about hilarious masochism

to get sunburnt
   on the scalp & the top of the shoulders
              where it freckles after the second burn
   & that sun burns the sand too & it grinds between heel & flip flop
      until, sandals abandoned,  cold salt waves engulf     ankles & up

to miss the step
   the one to the garage & shins collide with wooden doorframe
                  dad curses, shit, you startled me,   stop running
              so damn fast through the yard
      & for some reason it’s funny to feel the cool cement of the garage against
                      those knobby knocking skinny knees
         & each bruise evidence excitement & dad
                  cared enough to cuss

to crash the bike   
   milli—micro—nano seconds before it hits annie       & both challenger & chicken
                      fall into the grass  bruising on dirt
           blushing under sun &   adrenaline   &  full-stop stupid
       & the bike hits the telephone pole before it cruises into the street
     & two girls now have grass stains up their (one pale, one olive) forearms slight
                           & bug-bitten & tree bark-carved
       & everything is laughing, the summer,  the sun,   the breeze,
       & annie gets the bike & starts up the hill for her turn to come down again

to crawl back in the window
     dictionary under armpit &     shingle pieces   breaking palm skin
           soft landing on the twin bed where the cat tilts his head
                             at crickets   under the sill
        & the ribs have burned   & burned   from summer’s insufferable
                         way of causing laughter
             & the sun is pulling its linen blanket    over its head now
             & the power is still out   & the Nintendo DS died two
                         hours ago &  the bookmark sits at R
                                in the dictionary: raucous, rabid,
                                   rampart,    rapeseed,
            & being bored is worse than bruising or burning
                   because it leaves the fewest marks

This piece was featured in Volume 3, Issue 2. Click here to explore other pieces from this issue.