Death of a Skateboard

k k k k K K KKKKKKKrrrrrrraaaaaaakkkkkkkKKKKKKK ! ! ! ! ! !
My board wrenches apart with a cry,
as it tries to hold itself together with all its might --
splinters hanging out like intestines from a bleeding hernia.
I have killed it.

Like a karate expert,
I dealt the deadly blow with soft shoes,
rupturing seven plys of rock-hard birch and maple.
bonded together under hundreds of pounds of heat and pressure.

My head reels with a intoxicating mixture of pride and regret.

Feeling bad,
like losing an old friend
who helped fight off rabid dogs in the street,
and rescued you from saintly police
in the underground purgatory of Penn Station;

Yet exhilarated,
in the knowledge that you pushed it too far --
and then some.

I have killed my skateboard.
And I will kill again.

by TJ Richter

© April 1988 Theodore J. Richter