Bike

I didn’t fall in love at first sight.
You were a red-painted freak
with a rusty chain
and a seat reduced to a skeletal plastic shell
You were knocked down into the bushes
by a bully called Winter.I took you anyway
and pumped up your tires.
I wanted to fix you.The more time we spent together
the more faults I found in you.
Only five gears,
such a tiny range of emotion for a bike.
Uneven break pads pressing
on your front wheel.When we came to intersections
I could never reign you in
so we’d go charging into the middle,
each of us fighting the other,
until everyone else was staring at us.
I’d look down at you or up at the sky
and curse your inability to listen
(or maybe it was my need for control).

There were other days
when we’d go careening downhill
and I could raise my hands
up to worship the sky
forgetting about both our imperfections.
“I think I still hate you,” I’d say.

 

After writing this I discovered a poem by May Swenson that echoes it or maybe, since she wrote hers first, I’m echoing her. Read it here!

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