Sledding Down Lowell

By Mick Watson, February, 2017

At ten years (or was it eleven?) we sledded down Lowell Avenue

blocked off at each end with sawhorses so us kids could have some fun,

every time it snowed enough we headed for Lowell

sometimes making a train with our American Flyers, no saucers or tubes back then

My best friend, John, lived on Lowell, I thought how lucky he was,

and Alan and Jimmy and Richard joined us, and sometimes Richard’s little sister,

and, boy, did we go fast—head first, no helmets,

we were daredevils, afraid of nothing, except perhaps of being afraid

But then Lowell wasn’t steep enough

so we headed over to Seventh South, running straight down the fault,

so steep cars had to use second gear,

no sawhorses on Seventh, nobody would block it off for sledding

But Richard was crazy, he flew faster than anyone

and he lingered at dusk to sled some more after the rest of us went home,

that’s when a car slid down the hill,

the driver didn’t see him in the twilight

And Richard’s head was crushed and he died instantly….

the next day we went over to Seventh to see the blood….

why did we do that?

and I wanted to give his little sister a hug, but I didn’t

I hadn’t experienced the death of anybody

and I couldn’t understand it

and I didn’t want to feel the way I did,

how could Richard not be with us—to sled—and to breathe?