watching myself aging

people grow up, bicycles don’t
 
a somewhat older one with rusted
chain lays 
 
against bark
 
weeds place their hands on spokes
as to deprive
 
a bicycle of road memories
of days where
 
i once sat
 
as a child growing up 
 
riding with legs lifted up
through
 
mud puddles, spraying cloud 
tears onto 
 
uncut lawns
 
of a friend sitting on handlebars,
breezes blow 
 
to brighten smiles
to create a special
 
moment
 
of racing home late for dinner
dropping 
 
my bicycle on green grass,
caring more 
 
about a reprimand
than a 
 
two-wheeled friend
 
riding with neighborhood kids
to a sandlot swing
 
of a bat,
 
smell of baseball in spring air
 
bikes watching
 
wondering about who’ll steal
second
 
or a slide into home plate
 
then as i grew into older clothes,
my bike grew
 
into a brother’s younger hands
 
we both left home
 
a bicycle forgotten
 
not with a dollar sign in a yard
sale
 
rather, one last ride, it not
knowing
 
placed against bark
 
i walked away, and in each step 
i grew older
 
turned for one last look as my
hair grayed 
 
said goodbye to a friend,
a soft wave
 
looking at my hand,
 
watching myself aging…
 
 
Copyright © 05/21/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
Image
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2 comments on “watching myself aging

  1. Such magnifcent images brings this writing to life to inspire the reader to actually be sharing the moments with the writer – imaginations of long ago capture the interest of this reader – excellent! BKSmith

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