Boycott the Bullshit

riding on the back of a Vespa,
hanging on tight to a girl called Sabah
whose blonde hair is whipping me
in the face, along with the raw rain;
it smells like shampoo and petrichor.

we are heading to a party
with some of her high school friends.
doesn't matter, but they have a mini ramp
in their backyard so my skateboard
is strapped to my backpack.

in spite of kickflips, I wonder
how she will introduce me to her tribe,
and I wonder what dudes will be jealous of me,
because confidence is a killer
especially bohemian lately, and hatred is sexy.

once there, I plan to dance and kiss her neck
twenty thousand times, avoiding PBRs
in place of rock and roll on the ramp
where I will air the grill and make everyone laugh,
because I am only good at two or three things.

we will leave early, because...
well, because of love, skateboarding,
and making strangers laugh,
while the stars stay still
and we're not supposed to be.