Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The Tale of The Rower (Inspired by Canterbury Tales)

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.

And when the splitting of water wears them far down,

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,

He and his crew guys became quite quizzical

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.

Yet after a night of flips, climbing and vaulting,

With agile young friends in the downtown assaulting

The sidewalks and walls and the nooks of the city,

Our Rower did something that brought him great pity.

At McDonald’s where all Parkour-ists had met up to snack,

He tripped on a small curb and fell with a smack.

Descending, neglecting his skills learn’t fantastic,

He fell on one hand, the angle so drastic.

And, in irony abundant no one could fair conjure,

His thumb he did break. His pride he did injure.

With thumbnail fac'd east in an unnatural twist,

The Rower did visit a hand specialist.

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!

1 comment:

  1. I don't know what to say about this post. Teenagers are certainly inventive. And I feel my migraine coming back and I am not...

    But, I wanted to tell you that I dedicated a little something special to you on my Thursday post and I hope you like it:D


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