We used to find the biggest hill in the neighborhood
take our armfuls of skateboards and battle supplies
to the crest
And line them parallel to each other
facing downward

I’d count the sticks
and scraps of the broken wooden boards
I took from the karate school my dad taught classes
and then look at the path to the bottom
that we were always racing down

We’d make eye contact
right before we pushed off
and we’d move as slow as the force of gravity
Shoving our weapons under the others’ wheel
throwing jocular pushes
that masked a real intent to send me tumbling

we were just having fun at 15 mph
with no helmet or elbow pads

my arms are still bleeding
from where the concrete hit my skin

and you’re still at the bottom
giving me my only consolation
that you ever would

once again telling me
how good I am
at being

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