Poem: Parabolic Skis | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Poem: Parabolic Skis 

I called my friend
I didn’t call him, I sent him A Text

But he was my friend

I said Dear Greg, I hate these new skis
They bow out, like I’m not capable of
Handling straight lines
You understand, don’t you?

My friend called me back
He didn’t call me, he sent me A Text
He said,
Embrace it, you’ll be fine.
And we should talk soon,

He asked, how is your mom
And how is your dad?
I didn’t think it okay
To say back,
That she only talks about Death,
And he has had to hide
All the knives in the house.
Not in a text.
I would save that, for later.

(the funny part is)

I didn’t take his advice
I said no to the parabolics
No to the little bumps
that they call mountains
No to the man who said, just get new shit.
Instead I bought a 400-dollar watch
That turns the words I say
Into A Text.

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