the afternoon of your father's promise,
you will learn to ride your bike:
your father breathing hard
pushes, runs at your side,
one hand on the handlebars,
the other firm on the seat,
launching you like a glider
to soar long seconds
before wobbling to crash
in the soft green field
until you know how to ride
suddenly except for the brakes
and your father suddenly
is a speck waving way behind.
as you pedal toward strange sights
in blocks where he
has forbidden you to walk.
"Bicycle Spring" by Kevin FitzPatrick, from Down on the Corner.
© Midwest Villages and Voices.
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