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Like an ungainly bird,
just learning to fly,
he would launch himself forward,
in a dare-devilish try,
his claws, spinning wheels,
and his winged jumpsuits white,
trimmed in bright reds and blues,
like a flag in mid flight.

Up huge ramps to the lip
of the sky he was flung
while below breath was held
as his leap was begun.

I would sit in an armchair,
on the edge lurching up,
trying to help make all his landings,
a bit less abrupt.

Over Greyhounds and trucks
over cars and through flamse,
he would sail like a god,
with a demon-like name.

Then he’d land with a crunch,
tumbling end over end,
bike flung this way, flesh that way,
in ways bodies can’t bend.

Or he’d nail that back wheel,
and then set the front down,
with a fist in the air,
as the crowd roared the sound,
of their great love affair,
with the man death ignored,
all the jumps that I watched,
left me anything but bored.

I suppose if he’d grown old,
he’d rig wheelchairs with jets,
leaping nursing home buildings,
in star spangled sweats.

But now he’s in heaven,
and God has given him wings,
where he’ll spend his eternity,
jumping the heights glory brings.

©-2014-MFB III Productions

Art~Whimsically Yours Studio