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
mud puddles, spraying cloud 
tears onto 
uncut lawns
of a friend sitting on handlebars,
breezes blow 
to brighten smiles
to create a special
of racing home late for dinner
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
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
rather, one last ride, it not
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®

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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