Heading out the door, taking the toddler to preschool,
I ask the wife if my new hat makes me look fat,
No, she says—your chubby cheeks and double chin do,
Nothing like honesty and truth to dispel my illusions.
She asks when I’ll be back—right after said I,
Well, since its so nice out, I thought you’d go skating,
Not a bad idea at all, I replied, perhaps I will,
Maybe she just needs me out of her hair,
Whatever the reason, whatever the motives,
I gladly take her up on it and stop at the park.
Three college kids were mucking about,
One of them had killer ollies, grinding on the manual pad,
His friends could barely ride on their boards,
Wobbling as they went down the banks,
Brand new set-ups underfoot thanks to the local shop.
Ice crystals were holding on in spots,
Shimmering like broken glass from afar,
Dotting the smooth concrete trannys and hubbas,
And a couple of little puddles stand in the corners,
Out of the way, silent watery obstacles.
Two locals show up and start to rip,
The first does a fifty-fifty up on the wall,
Ten feet off the concrete floor,
Hits the half-round wall and flies over,
Does a kick-flip before landing up on the deck.
His homeboy, wearing chords and a button-up shirt,
Proceeds to drop in and carves all over,
Old school vans in full effect, ollies and flips,
If nothing else, never judge someone by his or her clothes,
Rippers often come incognito, let their skating speak for itself.
I stood around yakking for awhile, as I often do,
So bad with names, but skater number two,
Just got back from a roadtrip to Nashville,
Tried finding the new Bowling Green park as well,
Got lost on the way, stopped in Da’Ville instead.
Told them I was down in the D,
Checking out Danforth’s pool contest,
They asked me how Skater Dave did,
Everyone here gives him his props,
Dude kills it everyday, without hardly any effort,
Just turned forty-six a couple months back,
The driving force for this park getting built,
And a teacher and friend to several generations.
Old school, mid-school, new school,
He rules them all and does so with style,
Humble as can be and always has a smile,
Gives encouragement and tips to any and all,
Knows anyone and everyone near and far.
Killing time and working on my fakies,
Trying to pump ala Crash! and the other homies,
In the house that Skater Dave built,
Just a few blocks from Michigan State,
Just happy to be alive, never too late,
To enjoy your life and share the stoke,
It took me thirty-seven years, but I finally awoke,
Doing what I want to do, happy in my own skin,
Born-again skateboarder, armed with nothing but a grin,
I’ve gone back to square one, back to my roots again.
4.11.2007
4.09.2007
under leaden skies
Conspiring silently under leaden skies,
They lined up along the sidewalk,
Waiting for the bus to take us to school,
Last stop along the route,
Take whatever seat was left.
Stare silently ahead,
Don’t make no noise,
Don’t look no one in the eye,
Lest they take offense,
And target you next.
Some days it didn’t matter,
Sitting by myself silent and still,
Get smacked upside the head,
Just because, no real reason,
Different and alone was plenty enough.
Sick and tired of everyone’s shit,
Mocked and belittled day-by-day,
So I spit in R.D.’s face,
Dropped my books ready to fight,
Despite the difference in size and height.
Quickly had me in a headlock,
Punching me in the face,
Unable to use my arms,
Legs kicking uselessly behind me.
My head was throbbing afterward,
Blackened eyes and swollen face,
Dad showed no compassion,
Told me to kick ass or get ass kicked,
Losing a fight and crying like some wuss,
Would result in more pain at his hands.
So I went after R.D. in the schoolyard,
Knocked him over a bench,
Wrestled to the ground,
Rage upon rage, anger beyond control.
Marched off to the office by teachers,
In front of our schoolmates,
But too angry to care,
untriumphant in victory,
thought it would fix everything,
but still mired in my own fury.
Given the choice of detention
Or swift retribution via paddle,
Chose the latter, so dad wouldn’t know,
Nothing they had could hurt me,
Like the scorn of my own father.
More fights were to follow,
Each one stupider than the last,
Bullied became bully,
Inflicting pain for no reason,
Other than the illusion of control,
Until I realized what I had become,
Everything that I hated and despised,
Just another conspirator under leaden skies.
They lined up along the sidewalk,
Waiting for the bus to take us to school,
Last stop along the route,
Take whatever seat was left.
Stare silently ahead,
Don’t make no noise,
Don’t look no one in the eye,
Lest they take offense,
And target you next.
Some days it didn’t matter,
Sitting by myself silent and still,
Get smacked upside the head,
Just because, no real reason,
Different and alone was plenty enough.
Sick and tired of everyone’s shit,
Mocked and belittled day-by-day,
So I spit in R.D.’s face,
Dropped my books ready to fight,
Despite the difference in size and height.
Quickly had me in a headlock,
Punching me in the face,
Unable to use my arms,
Legs kicking uselessly behind me.
My head was throbbing afterward,
Blackened eyes and swollen face,
Dad showed no compassion,
Told me to kick ass or get ass kicked,
Losing a fight and crying like some wuss,
Would result in more pain at his hands.
So I went after R.D. in the schoolyard,
Knocked him over a bench,
Wrestled to the ground,
Rage upon rage, anger beyond control.
Marched off to the office by teachers,
In front of our schoolmates,
But too angry to care,
untriumphant in victory,
thought it would fix everything,
but still mired in my own fury.
Given the choice of detention
Or swift retribution via paddle,
Chose the latter, so dad wouldn’t know,
Nothing they had could hurt me,
Like the scorn of my own father.
More fights were to follow,
Each one stupider than the last,
Bullied became bully,
Inflicting pain for no reason,
Other than the illusion of control,
Until I realized what I had become,
Everything that I hated and despised,
Just another conspirator under leaden skies.
4.08.2007
Detroit redux
Been gone so long can’t believe its been twenty years,
Stayed right across the street from my dad’s office,
The last one he was to occupy in Detroit,
Before packing up and moving upstate.
The building being renovated, windows missing,
Covered with plastic, nothing but a shell,
Looks like nothing that I remembered,
Even the street below is different as well.
We took the kids to see the new ballpark,
The field stands twenty-five feet below street level,
Sculptures and bats adorn the fenced façade,
Where once stood blocks upon blocks of buildings,
Some vacant, some used but only slightly,
And one of these was the old YWCA.
Mom took us there one winter day,
Snuck away while dad was at work,
Sick of being smacked around, being yelled at,
Tired of his domineering drunken ways,
Packed our bags and slipped away into Detroit.
The seventh floor belonged to us,
Battered woman and their battered children,
Only accessible with a key, a safe house,
Away from our broken homes and broken dreams.
Dirty walls and floors, smelling of sweat and tears,
Crawling with cockroaches and rats,
But for many this was now their home,
Away from punching fists and prying eyes,
Leather belts across your face or your backside,
Usually hidden, leaving no trace for wondering eyes.
I looked out from the seventh floor, from the activity room,
Onto barren roof tops and an empty street,
Boarded up buildings, two once-grand theatres,
Nothing more, felt the cold chill of endless doubt.
Shipped off to the city schools, discovered a new kind of abuse,
Battle-scarred neighborhood, not far from downtown,
Drug gangs recruiting twelve-year-old runners,
Selling crack in their track suits, so they confined us to the school,
No lunch, no gym, no nothing for the city rats,
Most of the kids just killing time until they turned sixteen,
So many of them were close, still only in the eighth grade.
I stared out at the street below every night back at the shelter,
Kids playing ping-pong in the background,
Wondering about long-ago glory days, for me and the city,
Stared across the street at the Fox and State theatres,
Shuttered doors, broken lights, empty cavernous shells.
Now everything has changed, the theatres re-opened,
The vacant rotting buildings razed, even the church on the corner,
It was the only thing open on that street for many years,
A beacon of hope in the wilderness, surrounded by doubt,
The streets belonged to the homeless and helpless,
Still many around, but not like it was before.
Two new stadiums—named after companies that own the city,
Made it what it was in some ways, but two new stadiums,
Open park areas, two new/old venues for music and shows,
Even an opera house and so much more,
Three casinos in the downtown area,
But where have all the homeless ones gone?
Pushed into the outlying areas, beyond the new town homes,
Maybe past the cultural center, past the university,
Down on the corridor, vacant buildings still line the street.
I saw a couple sleeping on the grates,
Warmed by the steam from the buildings,
Saw a couple begging outside the casino,
Then going inside to gamble it away,
Or going into the party store for smokes.
Time has not stood still, so much has happened,
An All-Star game, a Super Bowl, the World Series, and the Stanley Cup,
Have all visited in recent years, fueling revitalization,
Changing my city, changing their image,
Changing the physical but not changing my memories,
Of a city in decay, falling apart from the inside,
So much more to do, but change it will,
Nothing ever stays the same.
It always comes back to the personal,
How have I changed, what is new with me,
How am I different from those days,
Staring out onto the street from the seventh floor?
That will require some more thought,
I’ll mull that one over for a couple days more,
Need to consider what I’ve done,
Where I’ve been for me to answer that one,
But we’ll see, we shall see . . .
Stayed right across the street from my dad’s office,
The last one he was to occupy in Detroit,
Before packing up and moving upstate.
The building being renovated, windows missing,
Covered with plastic, nothing but a shell,
Looks like nothing that I remembered,
Even the street below is different as well.
We took the kids to see the new ballpark,
The field stands twenty-five feet below street level,
Sculptures and bats adorn the fenced façade,
Where once stood blocks upon blocks of buildings,
Some vacant, some used but only slightly,
And one of these was the old YWCA.
Mom took us there one winter day,
Snuck away while dad was at work,
Sick of being smacked around, being yelled at,
Tired of his domineering drunken ways,
Packed our bags and slipped away into Detroit.
The seventh floor belonged to us,
Battered woman and their battered children,
Only accessible with a key, a safe house,
Away from our broken homes and broken dreams.
Dirty walls and floors, smelling of sweat and tears,
Crawling with cockroaches and rats,
But for many this was now their home,
Away from punching fists and prying eyes,
Leather belts across your face or your backside,
Usually hidden, leaving no trace for wondering eyes.
I looked out from the seventh floor, from the activity room,
Onto barren roof tops and an empty street,
Boarded up buildings, two once-grand theatres,
Nothing more, felt the cold chill of endless doubt.
Shipped off to the city schools, discovered a new kind of abuse,
Battle-scarred neighborhood, not far from downtown,
Drug gangs recruiting twelve-year-old runners,
Selling crack in their track suits, so they confined us to the school,
No lunch, no gym, no nothing for the city rats,
Most of the kids just killing time until they turned sixteen,
So many of them were close, still only in the eighth grade.
I stared out at the street below every night back at the shelter,
Kids playing ping-pong in the background,
Wondering about long-ago glory days, for me and the city,
Stared across the street at the Fox and State theatres,
Shuttered doors, broken lights, empty cavernous shells.
Now everything has changed, the theatres re-opened,
The vacant rotting buildings razed, even the church on the corner,
It was the only thing open on that street for many years,
A beacon of hope in the wilderness, surrounded by doubt,
The streets belonged to the homeless and helpless,
Still many around, but not like it was before.
Two new stadiums—named after companies that own the city,
Made it what it was in some ways, but two new stadiums,
Open park areas, two new/old venues for music and shows,
Even an opera house and so much more,
Three casinos in the downtown area,
But where have all the homeless ones gone?
Pushed into the outlying areas, beyond the new town homes,
Maybe past the cultural center, past the university,
Down on the corridor, vacant buildings still line the street.
I saw a couple sleeping on the grates,
Warmed by the steam from the buildings,
Saw a couple begging outside the casino,
Then going inside to gamble it away,
Or going into the party store for smokes.
Time has not stood still, so much has happened,
An All-Star game, a Super Bowl, the World Series, and the Stanley Cup,
Have all visited in recent years, fueling revitalization,
Changing my city, changing their image,
Changing the physical but not changing my memories,
Of a city in decay, falling apart from the inside,
So much more to do, but change it will,
Nothing ever stays the same.
It always comes back to the personal,
How have I changed, what is new with me,
How am I different from those days,
Staring out onto the street from the seventh floor?
That will require some more thought,
I’ll mull that one over for a couple days more,
Need to consider what I’ve done,
Where I’ve been for me to answer that one,
But we’ll see, we shall see . . .
unfinished angry song
Betrayed yet again
Thought we had finished this,
Tried to keep my mind open,
But back to the same thing,
Not sure what else to do,
I gave you some space,
Didn’t want to pressure you,
Maybe my expectations are too high,
Maybe you were right all along,
I’m still sitting in the same spot,
Singing the same old tired song.
So what’s left to be said,
What is left to repair?
Feel like I’m better off dead,
Or living on the run,
Disappointments begin to pile,
Living like a shadow,
Unable and unwilling to smile,
Full frontal stupidity,
Who’s the idiot, you or me?
My back’s wracked with pain,
And my ulcer’s acting up again,
But I still don’t know what to do.
Its funny to hear my co-workers bitch and moan,
Then spend half the day on their cell phones.
So why do i even try,
When no one else understands,
Why perpetuate the lie,
When I have no real chance,
Why oh why oh why,
Do i keep singing this same old song?
Chorus:
How am I supposed to trust anyone else,
When I can’t even trust myself,
How can I trust you when you lie,
Wonder why I even want to try,
For a love that long ago died.
Thought we had finished this,
Tried to keep my mind open,
But back to the same thing,
Not sure what else to do,
I gave you some space,
Didn’t want to pressure you,
Maybe my expectations are too high,
Maybe you were right all along,
I’m still sitting in the same spot,
Singing the same old tired song.
So what’s left to be said,
What is left to repair?
Feel like I’m better off dead,
Or living on the run,
Disappointments begin to pile,
Living like a shadow,
Unable and unwilling to smile,
Full frontal stupidity,
Who’s the idiot, you or me?
My back’s wracked with pain,
And my ulcer’s acting up again,
But I still don’t know what to do.
Its funny to hear my co-workers bitch and moan,
Then spend half the day on their cell phones.
So why do i even try,
When no one else understands,
Why perpetuate the lie,
When I have no real chance,
Why oh why oh why,
Do i keep singing this same old song?
Chorus:
How am I supposed to trust anyone else,
When I can’t even trust myself,
How can I trust you when you lie,
Wonder why I even want to try,
For a love that long ago died.
facts on The Tripper
The Tripper, the upcoming David Arquette movie (he co-wrote and directed), produced by Steve Niles. Arquette, entrusted with the film clip to be shown at ComicCon lost it. "I'm so embarrassed," the he said. "It'll probably be on the Internet tonight." So to make up for it, he acted out a few lines from the film, which he described as, "a political horror film about a person who's obsessed with Ronald Reagan and he attacks hippies at an outdoor music festival." He plays a small part, a "redneck" named Muff.
Tripper stars Paul Reubens, Jason Mewes, Lukas Haas and Thomas Jane (who became Arquette's brother-in-law when he married actress Patricia Arquette). Courteney Cox Arquette, makes a cameo appearance.
coupla days in Detroit
went and spent a coupla days in Detroit, just needed to get out of town--
photos to come...
Here's what I did/discovered:
1) Downtown Detroit has changed drastically--for the better methinks... didn't even recognize half the streets down there, everything looks so different with the new ball park and football stadium...
2) Viewing art by masters (at the Institute of Arts) is breath taking-- saw works by Diego Rivera, Rembrandt, Degas, Gaugin, Picasso, Monet, Matisse, Miro up close and personal...
3) Met David Arquette at the Greektown Casino--
me: "dude you look just like David Arquette"
him: "yeah, that's me...(almost apologetically)
He was in town to push his new movie which he directed, which I can't remember the name of...
a) he seemed smaller in person
b) he seemed like a nice guy
c) he got fleeced at the roulette table
4) Went to Danforth's bowl contest and watched rippers--young and old up close. I was trying to take pictures-- my first real experience with digital cameras and "action" shots-- the result wasn't pretty, but seeing people rip the pool that close up was inspiring...
photos to come...
Here's what I did/discovered:
1) Downtown Detroit has changed drastically--for the better methinks... didn't even recognize half the streets down there, everything looks so different with the new ball park and football stadium...
2) Viewing art by masters (at the Institute of Arts) is breath taking-- saw works by Diego Rivera, Rembrandt, Degas, Gaugin, Picasso, Monet, Matisse, Miro up close and personal...
3) Met David Arquette at the Greektown Casino--
me: "dude you look just like David Arquette"
him: "yeah, that's me...(almost apologetically)
He was in town to push his new movie which he directed, which I can't remember the name of...
a) he seemed smaller in person
b) he seemed like a nice guy
c) he got fleeced at the roulette table
4) Went to Danforth's bowl contest and watched rippers--young and old up close. I was trying to take pictures-- my first real experience with digital cameras and "action" shots-- the result wasn't pretty, but seeing people rip the pool that close up was inspiring...
4.04.2007
fickle fate
The fates have conspired against me once again-- the high temp. in Louisville was 83 degrees yesterday...the high on Saturday will be 41-ish...our trip has been cancelled/postponed due to inclement weather... on to PLAN B:
4.01.2007
the Louisville park
The first pic is actually an aerial shot of the park-- the white and black dots are people!! this place is something like 40,000 sq. feet!!
skate Mecca
My kids don’t seem particularly thrilled
about our upcoming trip to Louisville,
not sure where it is that they wanna go,
they’re on spring break and have nothing to do,
last year they went to visit their mishomis in the Soo.
The year before that we all went to New York City,
Stayed in midtown for a couple of days,
Then crashed at our friend’s place,
Across the river in Brooklyn- Williamsburg,
Or was it Green Point? Not too sure.
The thing is, what they need to understand,
Is that with what little we have, we do what we can,
We can’t go to Florida or California like their friends,
We aren’t flushed with money like so many of them.
I think one of them went to Italy or Spain,
But that’s the lives that they lead, so insane,
Wish we could afford just a piece of that,
But what little we got, isn’t really so bad.
Travel is good for the mind and soul,
See how other folks live and all of that,
Seeing someplace new with your eyes wide open,
Opens your mind and your heart to so much,
Helps break us out of our daily ruts.
So we’re visiting the Louisville Skate Park,
Open 24 hours, giant lights that cut through the dark,
Skated by Tony Hawk, Bill Danforth, et. al,
It’s gonna make our local park seem so small,
The kids are quite nervous, claim they can’t skate,
But this is just an adventure, nothing to debate.
I’m not expecting them to skate the full pipe,
don’t expect them to skate in the middle of the night,
or drop into the 8 foot bowl, ride the giant ramp,
just wanna see them get stoked and amped.
They don’t need to grind the coping,
Just want to have fun, that’s all I am hoping,
Don’t need to ollie over the banks,
Just want to go to Da Ville and give thanks.
I just want them to check it out with me,
Live in the moment and see what there is to see,
I’m no great skater, only just started back up,
Been going at it for about eight months,
And the last three of those spent rehabbing,
Spend most of my time standing around gabbing.
But the thrill and adventure of speed,
On those four wheels fulfills some need,
I don’t question or wonder, just go and skate,
My intention is to have fun, not to be great,
The terrain is different from our own they will find,
And sometimes that is a challenge worth trying.
Easier or harder, that’s for them to decide,
But trying something new stokes a fire inside,
It opens your eyes to new possibilities and lines,
And when they’re old and gray they’ll remember these times,
When we ventured out of our normal everyday,
And explored and discovered something new along the way.
I’m a little worried about meeting the Concretins in person,
My ego might need some after-session nursing,
But they all seem to be a fun bunch of rippers,
Shoot, I forgot to ask them about those chiggers—
But I rarely see other old schoolers up my way,
And I’m sure I’ll get some schooling that day.
Maybe my son will finally learn how to carve,
He just might realize it’s not really that hard,
Or my daughter will figure out how to kickturn,
Sometimes a change of scenery will help you learn,
Or my sorry butt will learn how to fakie and pump,
Instead of spending sessions falling on my rump.
Helped along by being outside our comfort zones,
Five hours to the south, not really that far from home,
We are going to the skate Mecca to show our respects,
Trunk full of helmets and pads and all our decks,
Make a joyous sound, with your hearts and your minds,
Raise your voices in song, or fill the air with grinds,
Its all the same song, celebrating this life we have been given,
So precious, so short, but so many of us forget to start livin.
about our upcoming trip to Louisville,
not sure where it is that they wanna go,
they’re on spring break and have nothing to do,
last year they went to visit their mishomis in the Soo.
The year before that we all went to New York City,
Stayed in midtown for a couple of days,
Then crashed at our friend’s place,
Across the river in Brooklyn- Williamsburg,
Or was it Green Point? Not too sure.
The thing is, what they need to understand,
Is that with what little we have, we do what we can,
We can’t go to Florida or California like their friends,
We aren’t flushed with money like so many of them.
I think one of them went to Italy or Spain,
But that’s the lives that they lead, so insane,
Wish we could afford just a piece of that,
But what little we got, isn’t really so bad.
Travel is good for the mind and soul,
See how other folks live and all of that,
Seeing someplace new with your eyes wide open,
Opens your mind and your heart to so much,
Helps break us out of our daily ruts.
So we’re visiting the Louisville Skate Park,
Open 24 hours, giant lights that cut through the dark,
Skated by Tony Hawk, Bill Danforth, et. al,
It’s gonna make our local park seem so small,
The kids are quite nervous, claim they can’t skate,
But this is just an adventure, nothing to debate.
I’m not expecting them to skate the full pipe,
don’t expect them to skate in the middle of the night,
or drop into the 8 foot bowl, ride the giant ramp,
just wanna see them get stoked and amped.
They don’t need to grind the coping,
Just want to have fun, that’s all I am hoping,
Don’t need to ollie over the banks,
Just want to go to Da Ville and give thanks.
I just want them to check it out with me,
Live in the moment and see what there is to see,
I’m no great skater, only just started back up,
Been going at it for about eight months,
And the last three of those spent rehabbing,
Spend most of my time standing around gabbing.
But the thrill and adventure of speed,
On those four wheels fulfills some need,
I don’t question or wonder, just go and skate,
My intention is to have fun, not to be great,
The terrain is different from our own they will find,
And sometimes that is a challenge worth trying.
Easier or harder, that’s for them to decide,
But trying something new stokes a fire inside,
It opens your eyes to new possibilities and lines,
And when they’re old and gray they’ll remember these times,
When we ventured out of our normal everyday,
And explored and discovered something new along the way.
I’m a little worried about meeting the Concretins in person,
My ego might need some after-session nursing,
But they all seem to be a fun bunch of rippers,
Shoot, I forgot to ask them about those chiggers—
But I rarely see other old schoolers up my way,
And I’m sure I’ll get some schooling that day.
Maybe my son will finally learn how to carve,
He just might realize it’s not really that hard,
Or my daughter will figure out how to kickturn,
Sometimes a change of scenery will help you learn,
Or my sorry butt will learn how to fakie and pump,
Instead of spending sessions falling on my rump.
Helped along by being outside our comfort zones,
Five hours to the south, not really that far from home,
We are going to the skate Mecca to show our respects,
Trunk full of helmets and pads and all our decks,
Make a joyous sound, with your hearts and your minds,
Raise your voices in song, or fill the air with grinds,
Its all the same song, celebrating this life we have been given,
So precious, so short, but so many of us forget to start livin.
the road ahead
The outline of trees,
Black against the dark sky,
Still without buds,
Along the avenue.
Black pools of rain water,
Dot the roadside,
Spraying sheets as I drive by,
In the early pre-dawn stillness.
Thunderstorm the night before,
Raindrops drip from the branches,
Soaking into the bark,
Seeping into my soul.
Half asleep behind the wheel,
Looking forward to nothing,
But the road ahead,
The long cold day ahead.
Awakening at 6 a.m.,
Shook off an uneasy sleep,
Shuddering as I went,
Stumbling into the light.
Long day of monotony,
Listening and watching,
Babysitting the fully grown,
As another 16 hours slips away.
Tomorrow again holds the same,
Dragging myself from truncated slumber,
Tying up loose ends,
Paying all my late fees.
But escape is on the horizon,
Somewhere different,
Just for a day or two,
Five hours to the south.
Looking to tear myself away,
Just for a couple of days,
To remind myself of what lies,
Under the surface,
Beyond prying eyes.
Black against the dark sky,
Still without buds,
Along the avenue.
Black pools of rain water,
Dot the roadside,
Spraying sheets as I drive by,
In the early pre-dawn stillness.
Thunderstorm the night before,
Raindrops drip from the branches,
Soaking into the bark,
Seeping into my soul.
Half asleep behind the wheel,
Looking forward to nothing,
But the road ahead,
The long cold day ahead.
Awakening at 6 a.m.,
Shook off an uneasy sleep,
Shuddering as I went,
Stumbling into the light.
Long day of monotony,
Listening and watching,
Babysitting the fully grown,
As another 16 hours slips away.
Tomorrow again holds the same,
Dragging myself from truncated slumber,
Tying up loose ends,
Paying all my late fees.
But escape is on the horizon,
Somewhere different,
Just for a day or two,
Five hours to the south.
Looking to tear myself away,
Just for a couple of days,
To remind myself of what lies,
Under the surface,
Beyond prying eyes.
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