The Present

by abubhaji

Together we tethered Pop’s yellow rope
to the highest branch; over creek-side cove,
dared cow-patty poison-oak, barbed-wire fence
post tripped, we slogged o’er goat-trails like young goats,
dipped bridge-belly side, stopped twice for the ducks
riding the current. We felt the present.
Ray-Ray’s handlebars, vintage chrome, we used
to construct the meanest fuckin’ rope-swing
a soul’d seen. Climbed tree-up to launch; its arch
bowed beyond Heaven, the mind’s grasp, bough-bent
to the weight of Jesus Christ hair and beer,
(bottles of Draft snug in gray creek-grass mud)
under foot and sway, holding on, for Life,
and you grinning there in the thick of it.