This Morning

This morning I remembered

this morning:

It was December, brisk and a bit foggy

A Saturday, slightly after seven a.m.

An area rural enough to assume roosters.

The road still slick from the night prior,

still sick from the night prior,

a fulfillment of curiosities

from which I still breathed fire.

My roll-pace was particularly risky;

caught in the clutch of some min-rest,

surprise survival adrenaline.

Casually,

I swerved around curves and cut corners

like a heat-seeking missile

with no programmed destination.

Suddenly,

I am spiraling sideways, a calm sort of skidding

There was no effort put forth to screech –

matter of fact, I just let go.

Though there was danger, there was no danger.

This was now a motorized waterslide – 

arms folded, I enjoyed the ride.

A wide open field felt my callous wrath,

wheels ate away at its insides,

spewing dregs to the side

like some earthy brownie batter.

This lasted all of seconds before finding myself

at a halt; and facing the wrong way

in the middle of a Sheep Pasture,

upward, mobile and unphased.

I then threw her in a U-ie

and made my way north.