Friday, December 19, 2014

Riding a Bike.


When I'm at my parents' house,
all I want to do is a ride a bike.


I like to ride
on every road
and cul-de-sac
in the neighborhood.

Today,
my fingers froze
around the handle bars
until I had nothing
but two Lego hands.

The wind
whipped way down
into my ears
and made them hurt.

I looked at peeling mailboxes,
gnarled trees,
inflatable Christmas figures
lying in nylon heaps
on front lawns,
and houses
where children I used to know
once lived.

Above me was
the faint blue winter sky,
always sunny
on the cold days.

In my legs
was the good kind of burning.
In my heart
was a ghost of childhood,
the aftertaste of summertime,
and a sigh of contentment.

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