11/19/22 Instead here’s a new poem—written yesterday—I’ve been trying to write for years but something I read yesterday sparked in me and it rolled out. Pun intended. LOL
Skate Key
The only good thing
about those ugly brown oxfords
was how the adjustable clamps
of my steel roller skates fit perfectly
over the edge of the stiff soles.
Hexagonal hole in the dull gray key
fit the nut that snugged the side clamps
gripping either side of my foot.
Thin leather straps
buckled around the ankles
and I was free.
Pushing off from the front porch steps,
arms swinging side to side across my chest
for balance, gaining momentum, breeze in my hair,
steel wheels grinding concrete
zooming up Kent Street, left on Zimmerman,
over to Ross Avenue, and on a good day,
all the way to the Dairy Queen on Grand Avenue,
a dime for a vanilla cone, plus a penny for tax,
tucked safely in my pocket.
Back then the only worries
were cracks in the sidewalk,
the only pain, skinned knees,
skate key swinging from my neck
on a piece of twine.
Version #2 01/02/2023 after Karla’s workshop on object poems: (And reviewing/incorporating your comments)
Don’t Lose the Skate Key
I tighten toe clamps of my roller skates
with a slightly rusty, metal key –
A square hollow tube on one end
slides over a prong under the wheels
snugging toe clamps to my shoes.
A hexagon hole at the other end
turns the nuts to lengthen skates
to fit my shoes.
The only good thing about those ugly brown oxfords
is how side clamps grip to leather soles.
Buckling thin leather skate straps around my ankles
I push off from the front porch steps
swing my arms side to side across my chest
gain momentum, breeze in my hair
as steel wheels grind concrete.
I zoom up Kent Street, turn left on Zimmerman,
skate over to Ross Avenue
all the way to Dairy Queen on Grand Avenue.
There’s a dime in my pocket for a chocolate cone
(plus a penny for tax)
Baby Boomer cruisin’ the neighborhood
dodging cracks in the sidewalk,
a skate key swinging from my neck
on a piece of twine.
02-07-2023 — you gave me the nudge I needed with “showing”. I think I finally got it this time: (I am so very aware of how midwestern, suburaban, white, and privileged this experience is from 1958)
Don’t Lose the Skate Key
A slightly rusty, metal skate key
tightens toe clamps of my roller skates.
The square hollow tube on one end
slides over a prong under the wheels,
snugs each clamp to my shoes.
The only good thing
about my ugly brown oxfords
is the tight grip over leather soles.
Buckling thin leather skate straps
around my ankles, I push off
from the front porch steps
swing my arms side to side across my chest
gain momentum, breeze in my hair,
steel wheels glide the concrete.
I orbit the neighborhood like Sputnik –
zoom up Kent Street, left on Zimmerman,
skate over to Ross Avenue
on my way to Dairy Queen on Grand.
There’s a dime in my pocket for a chocolate cone
(plus a penny for tax)
singing one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater
dodging cracks in the sidewalk,
a skate key swinging from my neck
on a piece of twine.