Rain bucketing, pummeling
the park where, on the concrete
edge of the flooded baseball
field-turned-wading-pool, stands
a boy, his skateboard flipped
vertical, resting against his calf
like a loyal dog, watching.

At some signal from his inner
adventurer, the boy flips the board
horizontal with his foot and sets
a sneakered sole atop, revving
the board back and forth, its
invisible engine preparing for

which he does with a mighty push,
sailing into the sidewalk shallows
before him with such force that
his wheels disappear as he surfs
that rain-pocked sea, going farther,
faster than he may have imagined,
upright, riding the wave, staying tight
in the tube till it spits him out,

and his fist leaps into the air,
punches exultation through
the drops, amped as he stands
in ankle-deep water, then flips up
his stick, tucks it under an arm,
and splashes back to where
he began,

grinning and shaking his head,
wet through and through,
ready for another gnarly run.

About janishaag

Writer, writing coach, editor
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2 Responses to Surfer

  1. Shelley Mydans says:

    I can see it! I can feel it! Bravo!!!

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