I was once a ring,
shining and smooth,
and I rolled like lightning in the night
casting Zeusian sparks in wild careen
while thunderous bellows
announced every bounce.
Reckless navigation turned me from true;
subtly in the early days,
when momentum rode my shoulder
in a grand display of teeth,
to the obvious wobble of today.
Rational practicalities,
late night phonecalls,
and numerous tombstones
shifted me farther out of round,
left me without the right
to claim the name circular.
I leak sound,
sighs and grumbled groans
express each turn.
A lame Hephaestus in rotation,
vainly pounding myself
in hopes of changing angles
through studied hammer strokes.
I still trundle along my course,
gravity prodding my hoopish spin
when I’m lucky.
On a gentle stretch
with poor lighting and proper lubrication,
I can summon the ghost of Jupiter
and flow in his shadow for a time,
as if I were a ring
and rolled like lightning in the night.
© 2017 Mike Porter