THE SAPSICLE KID, 1956

on my faithful steed

that answers to the name of trigger

i cowboy up pleasant street at a gallop

the green & cream columbia 1-speed

on one of those early-spring late afternoons

the temperature sundowning

south of freezing

the icy wind chill feathering my hair

my bare knuckles & ears white

with impending frostbite

& my spring jacket snapping

unzipped like a vest in the breeze

(you never see roy rogers riding

all buttoned up to the neck in three layers

or wearing mittens for his mom)

to whoa-up under the low naked limbs

of the playground maples

inching to a dead stop

feet still on the pedals

upright… balanced…

(trick rider that i am)

easy, fella

& slowly… eversoslightly 

cranking myself uprightward & standing

poised precariously in the stirrups

the rodeo crowd applauding as one!

reaching up to pluck

the first of the finger fruit

a long, sap-sweetened icicle

flecked with bits of black bark

& clamp it in my teeth

like a longbranch cheroot

my tongue delighting itself

over the maple-swishersweet surface…

me

a big forerunner of

the marlboro man