I am contained by spit and bailing wire,
the old go-cart
knocked together from peach crates,
roller skates,
an old wooden skate
affixed with bent nails
to peach-stained slats.
Rocking down hills,
round hairpin turns,
skipping cracks
and gaps.
Memory.
Bailing wire
and gum, glue,
thoughts of you.
Cocksure
and unafraid.
Rickety with memory,
bound by hope
bent nails
dreams of you,
your island, my roads.
My myriad, rocky roads.
Along I roll.
Writer Moe 