So simple was the summer the pedals spun

Wheels upturned like a dog in the wet grass

Faux-leather seat emptied of its passenger

Skinned like the dimples of their cheeks

For rare was a four-wheeler that could fly

Through ceilings and walls like clouds

White; glimpses of freedom however fleeting

Was enough to keep them coming home

For dark was the concrete splattered in mud

Caked on the handles like a plaster cast

Two-decades-old marinade of sweat and blood

Splinted in place by the cobwebs of time

So scared I was to teeter or swerve off-path

That I never grew into that bike like the vines

Nourished by the same rain now washing me

Clean at last I can take my training wheels off.