Stomach
My Stomach
This one's strange. I'll tell you that up front --
Don't even have a clue …
But cry, I did -- for quite some time --
And lest you doubt -- it's true.
We lived out in a neighborhood
Where all the streets were "birds";
Like
Robin, yes, and
Oriole and
Cardinal -- just words.
But Cardinal -- the bird that's red --
(The street turned bright red too!),
Forever holds a mystery that
I'm setting out for you.
One end was flat and level,
But before you got halfway,
It tilted up, was fairly steep,
Which made it fun to play --
With anything that had some wheels,
Which normally meant bikes.
But on this day, a neighbor kid
Tried soap-boxing it -- Yikes!
Went super fast! "I'm next!" I yelled,
But he said only he
Could drive the thing -- his daddy's rule,
"But," then he said to me:
"You could ride on back . . . just hang on tight.
Okay!" I jumped on quick.
Then held on tight, as best I could --
I soon learned that the trick
Would be to hold my feet up
So they wouldn't scrape on the ground.
We were gaining speed quite quickly
Just before things turned around --
I think he swerved to miss a hole --
It all happened in a wink --
I somehow slid beneath the thing --
My stomach turning pink!
I can't explain the mechanism --
How I got that way --
All I know is he couldn't stop that thing!
'Twas like a runaway!
We must have skidded twenty feet --
Me dragging on my gut --
My stomach was one mass of meat,
Without a single cut!
Just scraped down raw -- no epidermis,
Pink from coast to coast --
I crawled out slow from underneath --
My tummy, burnt like toast!
The two blocks home were agony
Each movement caused such pain!
"What happened?!" cried my mother.
Though I tried, I couldn't explain.
Bactine -- the spray -- hurt even worse!
But soon the pain calmed down.
From that day on, soapboxes? No!
I think I'd rather drawn!