Mashed Potatoes

For once, I would like a ruler.

A really big one, large enough to span all time,

or my time at least – which isn’t too much to ask.

To draw a straight line through life,

and make it all fall in, drill sergeant style.

Free me of all the jumps and bumps,

dancing about the hurdles which 

slow me to halts,

as if life were a blob of mashed potatoes;

surfing through its smooth white clouds,

like a true California girl.

For once, can it be a tunnel?

No more mazes of roads and streets,

avenues, crescents, highways and lanes.

To close  my eyes, raise my hands, 

and push my bare foot into the pedal,

unafraid of the walls of people.

For it all to be a bowling alley

with the railings up and a ramp to slide down.

To shamelessly ride with pink, bedazzled training wheels

and a lemon learners plaque

 to blind all nosy parkers up my ass. 

For once, wouldn’t it be nice if it all could line up,

so I could be, for once, entirely happy.