The Spirit of SPoT

 Twas’ the night before Christmas As I closed up SPoT. Not a skateboarder was present While I swept the lot. The list of closing duties Was just about done. The crew sessioned earlier; It was the usual fun. Off went the lights, Ending in pitch black. There was a movement so slight When I turned and looked back. To my disbelief, My eyes did not fail. I thought I was dreaming! There was a ghost on the rail! Then Sean Miller, Jeff Phillips, Keenan Milton, Phil Shao, and more… One by one they Walked through the door. One was a man Who got hit by a Jeep While in SF, Bombing a hill that was steep. The other was a grom, Who held on to my hand. He died from an illness After the Make-A-Wish Jam. Over came Shao, “Although I am dead, I am part of these ramps,” He smiled and said. Phil saw I was frightened And told me not to fear, “Only now you can see us, But we are always here.” Sean explained, “Death came as a surprise. I was just a young man And did not realize.” “Heed my advice and Skate for fun. Because you never know When it’s the end of your run.” For years I’ve left The SPoT at night And have driven away Not feeling quite right. But this Christmas Eve The usual late night noise Was an after-life session With our lost boys. Here’s the lesson I’ve learned From our friends that have passed: Skate and destroy every session As if it’s your last!