the cruel rotation of bicycles [29/30]

April is the cruelest month,
bringing the warmth into the feet
the bubbling rages out of the light
tubers in the sidewalks shouting
stay back and running from
our street they strapped the boy
into the pavement and his knees were
scraping against the tar I saw him riding
his bike before the marching and
his knees were free
in the air pushing the pedals
churning the spokes and rubber in
endless circles
I like to think that as his feet pushed and
the muscles grew that all of the cells were
working together and one day
those old sneakers will
break free of their constant, vicious
orbit & push him out of their hands
into the strong, eternal
wings of evening

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