the thrill of it all

was it the wading?
the way they bent under the bike’s feeble tires?
or perhaps the rust on the garage
or the canary yellow stains dripped over the years
and embedded on the back of a familiar candy shack
the train tracks – their endless eyesight
they see what I can’t down that so straight and narrow path
or the leaning on the highschool door
discussing the simplest voyage to an accessible vacation
that made the thrill of it all.

was it the weather?
the way the sky found no hope in parting today
and lost all reason to be frowning and sough refuge under the sun
or perhaps the way I stopped, skidded if you like,
to a complete and utter confusion in traffic- yes, traffic
in this puttering little town
behind vehicles, behind a motorcycle, behind bikes,
behind a small boy dragging his father’s golf clubs
or the relaxed posture I took as my entrusted and adopted grandmother
took another swipe at the downtrodden Indians
that made the thrill of it all.

was it the deserts?
the samplings of sugar I enjoyed by the farmtruck pickup full
from the bargain shop, from the cake display,
from the all-too-willing-to offer neighbour
or perhaps the rising elegance of the buns that saw their beginnings in my palms
formed out of the same tender care this community
has wrapped around my upbringing
only to see me rise under the pressure and bake to some sort of perfection
- in fact, a few quick checks just to see the progress
that made the thrill of it all.