Chicagoetry: Stingray

Stingray

When I was a kid,
gloved in hubris,
cocooned by family,

I craved a stingray.
My simple, sturdy, standard
Schwinn paled

agin the gleam
and gloss of the more
stylish roadster.

Banana seat, extended
back-brace, high handlebars.
Well: I got the high handlebars.

Anon I cruised
more gaily, one accessory
closer to ideal.

But then I reeled.
Across the field,
a fresh Nemesis.

A peer upon a ray--
ignominious display!--
handlebars high

but further curved
unto the likeness
of ram's horns.

Stung: devastation!
Covetous blood boiling
under knee pants,

pride blighted
by that jammy bastard!
Vividly, I remember.

I remember every
Yuletide, re-grappling
with my wounded pride.

No thing
is ever enough, no thing
is in essence

insurmountable.
That's heavy, for a kid.
It stayed

with me.

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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

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More Tindall:

* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

* Kindled Tindall: The Novel

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