He's tall, fit and athletic, this young man of might,
Whose arms are sure strong and his leg muscles tight,
Made verily so by rowing a four-man sport boat,
With movements sleek smooth and rhythms fair rote.
Spandex clad, hands calloused and game-face sore dire
He and his brave shell-mates seemed never to tire.
Anew their strength and steel wills always come 'round.
To Nation’s fame, this hearty boy crew,
They pulled and feathered their oars and flew
In perfect oared sync down canals, bays and lakes
Inviting trounc’d nemeses to eat of their wakes.
One night when discussing bold victories physical,
Of a new sport to conquer, and on which to boast
Called Parkour. In such, the urban landscape is host
Where no city sidewalk, wall or stair is barrier
To the tumbling, flipping or leaping Parkour harrier.
Instead of water, rival crews and timing to beat,
He’d with his companions, like spiders so fleet
Flip down from the rooftops and all breathless they’d run
Climbing bus stops and bike racks and stairwells for fun.
Not meant for competing, this free running art,
‘Tis control of the mind gives movement its start.
And, like rowing, to rule over nerves, fear and pain
With Parkour there’s grace and good balance to gain.
At McDonald’s where all Parkour-ists had met up to snack,
He tripped on a small curb and fell with a smack.
A surgeon who put the Rower well under,
To pin the one digit he had tore all asunder.
He awoke from the sleep with an oath on his lips
At McDonald’s, he said, he was cursed with the trips!
(Then the boy still all woozy from drugs dulling pain,
Did vow to hug mom and kiss girlfriend again.
No mem'rie he now of those words that he spoke,
But tender that strong man was sweet when he woke.)
Eight weeks for to heal and climb back in the boat.
Missing three crew regattas, that’s all she wrote.
But all was not lost, he allowed in the car,
His sweetheart apparently digs guys with scars!