A man set out to break the world record,
to travel further
than all before him
in a giant, carved-out pumpkin.

His children cheered
as he ventured from the shore.
He steered that orange vessel
as it swayed through the water.
Closed his eyes
as he leaned in to the feeling
of the back and forth,
the pitch, roll, and yaw.

His family asked him why he did it,
but he could no more answer
than he could explain
the reason he hated the taste of garlic,
or slept with one foot
out from under the quilt
his wife had made him.

The truth was, he never excelled
at typical pursuits.
He quickly grew weary
of collecting coins or stamps.
He never hit a baseball
that someone didn’t catch.

He felt that all his life
had led to this,
to this insatiable need
to pursue what others deemed
a flight of fancy,
a strange quirk,
an obscure folly.

But only this and nothing more
would ever satisfy.
So he began to paddle once again,
and his salty sweat dripped down his brow,
mixing with the briny scent of the sea.

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