One Slippery Snowboard
It is the only one that supports me.
I am the only one who rides it.
One slippery snowboard with bindings for a mouth and a smooth bottom of a belly.
One that glides down intricate white paths.
One faithful board sitting in my garage.

In winter I can hear it, but others ignore the calls.
Its ability is covert.
It turns and stops, gripping the snow with perfect precision,
and soars through the sky with the ease of a kite.
This is how it rides.

Let one forget its reason for being,
it’d deteriorate like wood under sandpaper, losing its usefulness each day.
Ride, Ride, Ride, the board says when I pass.
It encourages.

When I am too old and too fragile to keep riding,
when I am a record in a CD store,
then I pass it on.
One who persevered despite frigid weather.
One who rides and does not forget to bend.
One whose only reason is to ride and ride.