Vanilla Ice

Stop. Collaborate and listen.
Sillyliss is back with her brand new intention.
The handlebars I grab a hold of tightly.
Going too fast? Tap the coaster brakes lightly.
Then I stop at the stop sign, looking leftly and rightly.
Will I ever stop? Yo — I don’t know.
Erma says, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

If I’ve got a cruiser, yo, I’ll ride it.
Check out the spokes while I stumble then I hide it.
Vanilla Ice, Ice Baby.

I’m cruising around the ‘hood on my brand new Beach Bike with my daughter behind me calling out, “Mommy! Wait for me!” Then I coolly steer into the neighbor’s front lawn.

Look both ways. No traffic? Okay, go ahead. Wait. Wait. Wait. I'm stuck.

As we spin our wheels, I impart wisdom on her to carry her through her life. I talk to her about life, the essence of it. I am spouting off every knowledgeable thing I have ever thought, and I realize she is not listening to a word of it because she sees a dog and for some reason it is hilarious.

"You gotta separate your lights and your darks. You don't want to wash them together. I don't know why, but it's what I've been told."

We cycle past the kids on scooters blasting their Vanilla Ice wannabe music from their driveway. Everyday I’m shuffling. Or at least on a Saturday morning while I try to remember how to ride a bicycle.

Then I come in for the landing. I’m a scene out of Titanic. I’m sailing away on my bike.

My heart will go. In just a minute. After I catch my breath. Just gonna lay here for a while and try not to die.

I am every mixed metaphor. I’m out there and I’m loving it!

Finally, I’m back here and I’m tired and I don’t WANNA bike to the Oasis, because I’m a wimp. “Don’t be a wimp, Mommy,” Erma wisely imparts wisdom upon me.

And we sing.

Ice, icy baby.