40 year old Brian!

40 year old Brian, the skateboarding fella,

The bruise on his hip aged from purple to yella,

Packed up all his pads and filled up the boot,

Of the family car and drove off with a 'toot'.

To the skatepark (on foot only minutes away)

With a flask full of tea (piping hot it would stay)

Pulling up in the carpark he let out a sigh

As he saw all the scooter kids give him the eye.

They knew how much fun it was going to be,

Tormenting poor Brian from noon until 3.

Swallowing down a quick cup from his flask

(Along with the fear he was trying to mask)

He started the ritual of putting on pads,

A marriage agreement that's signed by all dads-

Along with the cursary stretching of backs,

Like a half arsed Olympian hitting the track.

The board Brian carried with care by his side, was 2 inches wider than what the kids ride,

A classic reissue, a cool raffle prize

(So thinks Brian's wife, his purchase disguised)

And so on the coping is where Brian waited,

Till a gap in the scooter kids runs was created-

A very brief moment with tail on the edge

Like a chick on a branch just about to be fledged,

Suddenly gravity pulled the board down

As he pumped the transition then turned the board round

On the opposite wall, did he hear that sweet sound?

Do he hear his back truck as the coping was ground?

Elated, euphoric in ecstatic joy,

For Brian this wasn't a stunt on a toy,

He felt like Lance Mountain or maybe Sean Goff

And he gathered his things and promptly drove off.

Sat by the fire that night with his son

He recounted, in detail, his jaw dropping run.

"That's great Dad, well done, I'm proud that you skate,

Now read 'Six year old Sidney' to me, cos it's great!"