My Friend Had a Stingray
by Michael Simon

We were 13, boys on bikes
My friend had a Stingray
In the blowing prairie wind
He hung his jacket from
the handlebars and lay
down as flat as he could
unable to see
unable to stop
You cannot hold the wind.

Idiot wind. Moria. Zephyrus. Howling.
Wind means the Earth is round and spinning.
Wind grabs kites to wave back at you.
Wind, if you stand in it just right,
can blow through one ear and
out the other, cleaning house,
getting the dumb-ass ideas out
letting nothing get under the rug.
Imagine knowing every pourous
pathway, imagine breezing into
every pore. Donne’s flea*
has nothing on a love like this.
I want to be the wind
that blows through you.


John Donne. The Flea https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46467/the-flea



 

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