Nana, will you ride the Anaconda
with me?
My seven-year-old granddaughter
looks up at me,
imploring. My feet are abraded—
too much sand;
my replaced hip protests—
tumbled in the surf;
my neck and back ache—
strange bed.
What will I teach her if I say
I hurt too much?
Of course, I reply and off we go—
7 and 70
lumbering up the rough concrete ramp
to stand
in line, maneuver into the yellow,
two-person raft,
fly down the roaring,
narrow chute
and after blind swoops and freezing splashes,
blast
through the open jaws of the giant snake,
hands aloft and squealing.
© by Patricia L. Goodman.
Used with the author’s permission.
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