For my Father
Posted: 16 Jul 2018, 04:27
For my Father
Eight years old, I threw myself
over the saddle of a bike
for the first time.
The street turned into choppy waters
and my bike foundered.
Pain shot through my knees,
a mash of dirt and gravel.
Yet my father encouraged me:
"Great job!" he shouted.
My knees were scarred tissue,
but he slung me on his shoulder
and we hiked back, our own parade.
My father whistled as my knees,
wounded heroes, came home.
Eight years old, I threw myself
over the saddle of a bike
for the first time.
The street turned into choppy waters
and my bike foundered.
Pain shot through my knees,
a mash of dirt and gravel.
Yet my father encouraged me:
"Great job!" he shouted.
My knees were scarred tissue,
but he slung me on his shoulder
and we hiked back, our own parade.
My father whistled as my knees,
wounded heroes, came home.