Once you were a garbage dump,
then covered over with soil,
You became a perfect playground,
that only time would spoil.
“Burty monghead!“
Bored kids became opportune,
building jumps and berms,
Weaving in and out of the trees,
navigating tricky turns.
“Chinny rack-on!“
At night great fires were built
and danger was closely tested,
As boredom lead to discovery
with all our effort invested.
“Muz twang!“
We dug a hole eight feet down
and covered it over with branches,
Camping and drinking underage,
partying through teenage chances.
“Crabby dareya!“
As time went on we all moved away
and the track fell into disrepair,
But I’ll always remember those times
of laughter and joy that we had there.
Written for GloPoWriMo Day 13:
Try your hand today at writing your own poem about a remembered, cherished landscape.
As kids, we got up to a lot of monkey business in our village and ended up with a nightly drive through from the police just to check in on us. The track was a mini-refuge where we were mostly concealed from prying eyes. At first, it was a BMX track and then as we grew into motorbikes, we tested each other to see who could jump the furthest and highest. The next generation of kids after us was quite tame in comparison, perhaps with the rising influence of video games keeping them indoors. Boredom was the best – we had such fun.
The odd phrases in the poem will only be understood by the few of us involved, somewhat our own colloquialisms.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 