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Bike Ride MAG
I peddle and peddle,
trying to remain
up
on the narrow wheels.
With my sister pushing the blue and white bike,
I feel a feeling of control.
Now, it's time. She releases the bike and I slowly wobble away.
Now,
as I whirl by those slow Sunday drivers,
and the joggers, who love to annoy bikers by running
right smack in front of us,
I remember my sister,
and I wish she were here to protect me from the dogs,
that gnaw at my feet, and the rocks,
that you don't see until it's too late.
Save me.
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