Ride the Wind (A rhyme not a poem)

A young boy and his new motorcycle. Will kids ever learn?

The roar of the bike.

The blast of  the wind.

The leaning and turning

Around every bend

I give it more gas

To pick up more speed.

Faster and faster.

It's speed that I need.

No doubting. No dread.

Over acres I race.

No worries. No fears.

Just wind in my face.

When my dad found out

I bought this here bike,

He grumbled and groaned,

Turning purple and white.

You're gonna get maimed,

He screamed from the shed.

Or worser than that,

You’re gonna get dead.

Phooey, Kablooey.

I’m young and he's old,

I mumble to me

At the fork in the road.

Then my hair stands up

And my spit goes away

As I see to my horror

I’ve turned the wrong way.

I let go the throttle

And slam on the brake,

But when I start to stop

Too soon it’s too late.

Oh, Great Jumpin’ Toad,

I'm over the top

Headed straight down.

Kaboom, bang, thud, pop.

To the handles I hang

Like clothes on a line.

Where’s Mommy or Daddy

I hear myself whine.

Front tires smack hard

On the side of the hill.

I wonder why kids don’t

Make out a will.

The springs from the forks

Shoot up like two rockets.

The bounce is so hard

It empties my pockets.

Into the air 

I pitch and I fly

While in slow motion

My comb passes by.

Then the edge of the ledge

Grabs the back of the bike

Pitching it forward

And setting it right.

Frantically flopping

I squeeze the front brake.

Scree-eee-eee-eee-eech.

Another mistake.

Skidding and scraping.

Splunk, splink, splutter, splat.

My rear is in front.

Man, how'd I do that?

Oh Great Croakin' Toad.

Crunch, bang, rattle, bump,

Turn, twirl, twist, twang, thwack.

I hit a tree stump.

I spin back around.

With tears in my eyes.

Really sorry I’d eaten

Those greasy french fries.

Zigging and zagging

To my doom I speed

Oh Mother, oh Father,

I vow and I plead.

From now to forever

It’s whatever you say

If I can only get past

This next rock in the way.

All of a sudden

I come to a stop

Like I’d run out of gas.

Thud, clank, sputter, plop.

The bike is still standing,

Though battered and bent,

And I am not bleeding,

Though bruised up and spent.

Hey, wait. I made it

From the top to the end.

Holy smokin'  toad.

Let's do that again.

Reviews

[David Scott]

"Holy smokin' toad". Your wrote a fun ride. Sounds like when I was a kid... Thank you for taking me back a few years. :-)
Be well and slow down already. Ha.