Our Guest Author, Kelsey Morgan takes us back to the middle of summer and perhaps our childhood in her poetic description of conquering one’s fears to embrace adventure.
The Waterslide
The line for the Black Hole winds down
Eight flights of soaked stairs,
Crowded with adults, teens, and
just-tall-enough-to-ride-this-years.
Theres the dad who sports a beer belly and a Speedo,
and the much-too-hairy-to-be-wearing-that lady.
They laugh and talk and nail-bite
Big, small, wet, dry.
Boys in Hawaiian shorts
Try to put arms around bikini-girls
In my well-worn bright pink one-piece
I gaze up, hand saluting at forehead
One eye squinting
At a stairway to the clouds,
at the slide which will certainly be my undoing.
i watch another child get packaged onto her donut and
Shoved into the abyss of a winding jet-black tunnel,
a Shrill scream seconds behind,
I wait to ensure she appears
in the 3-foot pool at my end.
Every rider does, each only common
In the size of their wedges upon standing.
Dad arrives at my side with two giant mustard tubes
And one-hand-waves me to follow
He leaps the six soaked gray cement flights
To the end of the line.
Instead of slapping my hands
On my knees and wheezing
I try to casually catch my desperate breath
Over the indistinguishable roar:
voices detailing stories of bravery,
the shuffle of floats and feet
and tunnel-screams
Each inch mounts trepidation.
Each cursed stair nears me to Judgment.
But I cannot appear scared!
Rather, I hear myself boast
That I’ll be able to go faster than Dad.
And wouldn’t dare sissy-scream!
I headshake at the chickens
who bear the long walk of shame down,
Past all of us brave ones.
It’s Dad’s turn.
(We agree he’ll test it first)
I watch his victorious takeoff,
Both arms in the air.
what a pro.
In the pushoff pool,
(Having calculated that I couldn’t run down the stairs
In time to have faked the ride)
I plop into my tube.
my butt falls through.
I clench the blue plastic handles.
I feel the “guiding” hand on my back.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m pushed!
Terrorscream! Tunnelwind whips
Endless black freefall!
Stomach jumps into throat,
I will certainly die In this winding death-tunnel,
Feeling each tunnelcrack underneath me, and
Bright light! Life!
A last waterfall smacks me in the face as
a last sign of Black Hole dominance.
My small frame is propelled out of the tunnel
I flip over face first, tube next into the shallows and
Cough as tide-pool water violently shoots up my nose.
I stand up to see Dad waiting, run over to him,
Tell him it was awesome, and beg to ride again.
Guest Author Bio
Kelsey Morgan 
I am a new guest writer to lifeasahuman. I love writing, especially poetry about human experiences, people, memories, or places I see. I stop and smell the roses, then i paint a poem and share them with you.
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