Scooters and Umbrella Stands

Emmett restores my faith
in all that is good and true
by pulling a scooter
from the dumpster at school
and pronouncing it perfect 
despite a rusty fender 
and frayed grey duct tape 
covering the hand grips.

This baby will drift, 
he assures me,
and while I have no idea 
what a drifting scooter does,
to do so is clearly a good thing 
in the eyes of a newly-rich boy.
My brother and I furnished
backyard scrap-wood forts 
from items left on the curbs 
of Piermont Road every Tuesday,
in Cleveland, in 1965.
Never a ripped chair more luxurious
than in our backyard bunker.
Never did boys recline more regally 
than we did on trash day treasures, 
in Cleveland, in 1965.

Poem Notes: When my sister Amy read this poem, she reminded me that our mother re-finished a shelf Amy rescued from someone’s trash in Cleveland. My sister kept that shelf until she moved into her first apartment after graduating college. Our forts weren’t haunted, but I sure did read a lot of Hardy Boys books in those days. I checked and Franklin W Dixon is still churching them out . . . he must be 143 years old by now!

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A New Poem on Mondays!

Joseph Neely, all rights reserved

9 thoughts on “Scooters and Umbrella Stands

  1. I have been enjoying your poems so much. This one reminded me of the fort (of sorts) that we had down by the neighborhood creek, hidden back in the bushes, that I’m pretty sure was decorated with trash pick treasures. So many great memories to revisit. Keep writing!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your timing is perfect as Peter and his buddies made a fort in the woods by our house with downed limbs (complete with a flag from an old pillowcase I gave them). They would like to cover it with bark but haven’t quite figured that part out yet. Thanks for sharing a poem to capture that moment so wonderfully.

    Liked by 1 person

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