pipe dreams

Rolling on tinted concrete,
Slabs upon slabs under my wheels,
Smooth and hard,
Soaking up the noonday sun,
Hand-troweled imperfections,
Adds character and the unknown,
Cracks starting to appear,
Patched hastily by the city.
Tiny holes here and there,
Dust and debris collect in the corners,
Cigarette butts and used band-aids,
Pieces and parts of skateboards,
Splintered plywood graveyard,
No one cleans the mess,
Except the old-schoolers,
Showing up with brooms in hand.
Little banks less than two feet,
Up on the top deck,
Slow gradual inclines for beginners,
And bigger ones as well,
Three feet, then five, then six,
Over on the other side,
Pyramids in-between,
Level and flat at the top.
And a hubba, a concrete mogul,
With sloping sides,
Makes for a hell of a ride,
When taken at speed,
And of course there is tranny,
Concrete transitions from bottom to top,
Five foot radius I think,
Math-challenged so I’m not sure.
Up on the deck over to the bowl,
Egg-shaped nirvana,
Five feet in the shallow,
Ten feet deep at the other,
Smooth reddish grey concrete,
Graffiti barely visible,
Sand-blasted off by the city employees,
A waste of our precious monies.
Gun metal grey metal coping,
Runs along the lip,
Looks to be at least three inches,
Perhaps four, sits teasing,
Unreachable for me,
Reminds me of metal pipes,
That I used to cut and thread,
So many years ago along the lakeside.
Back door wide upon in my dad’s store,
Perfect view of the harbor,
Lake Michigan just beyond,
Offering a cool a breeze as I lifted and sweat,
Cutting and grinding and at day’s end,
I’d skate out and acid drop off the loading dock,
On my way down to the beach,
Long-ago summers now out of reach.