Bounce

we will not leave as expected;

some of us will dye our hair pink,

maybe exhaust what’s left of our grip strength learning guitar.

from jumping on a hotel bed

my aunt jean fell, broke her hip,

slow-rolled out of life in a wheelchair.

still, you gotta love the urge, and the jumping.

take me. everyday, i am still learning to write

and i don’t know where i’m going with this,

but i’ll take that bounce big, with a side of possible tragedy

& a suspense that doesn’t defy death, but holds hands with it,

like a friend.