Powder Blue

Powder blue. Postman Raleigh frame, Wheels that were thin and far from de rigeur at the time. An ode to the horrors of Shelly with its salvaged parts, None matching saddle and outmoded bell. Smooth plastic pedals. A Gift. Not as I had dreamt, Mag wheels with fat all terrain tyres for grip. A torrid lean toward machismo and impressive stunts, A mode of movement, demanding awe. Trophy as much as vehicle. Summer followed. She earned my respect, Her visage lost initial thoughts of ugliness. For Frankenstein’s monster tore fast and flew, Threw wind in my face, took my breath. Grazed elbows and knees. Barry Sheene. Randolph Scott, John Wayne, I became all of those, that hazy summer. Chasing bad guys across imagined prairies, Hurtling down race tracks unknown. Winning hearts and trophies. Funny now My memory of where she went, Evades me, time has ridden past, fast. The bike I once called Mary, with love, A nod to the author of the dark tale she reminded me of. Beautiful powder blue.