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Poem

The wind in my face and wide mouth stares
Is all that's left of the evenings
Hurtling down Round Hill thrilled without fears
That gives onlookers knees the tremblings
Why would they keep a thing like that there
Only the Raleigh sports frame would survive
The long years, perhaps rusted with despair
But this heart hums still, I hear the hive.

My first bike, my only bike, the one
That gave me status among my peers
And caused the fights that bad Clement won
Or was the punishment and my cares
O the bond between us, the wild streak
The lessons it taught me with bruised knees
Sliding through gravel, making me meek
When hurled hard to road where children tease

Washing and wiping and oiling her
Made her lissom for mount and for ride
Pumping her hard, faster, faster
In groove she succumbed, and we did glide
Through fields and down hills, it was so rare
Something erotic in teen and glee
I felt but did not learn, could not share
The winds caress and pure ecstacy.

I dream it stll though, riding brakeless
And her moaning sweetly as I crank
Body bare of shirt, skin still sweatless
And the Raleigh going on empty tank
I wish they kept her frame, I could flesh
Her again, rub her gently, oil her
From between my thighs our souls would mesh
Pumping her hard, faster, sweeter.

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