Not a reader in sight
and honesty wins --
I'm missing my bicycles:
two venerable Schwinns.
On an eve like tonight
I'd have pedaled away,
April brushing my cheek
with air fragrant as May . . .
and I'd stand up and pump,
thighs muscling down
with the force of a racer
gusting forward through town,
burning my bitter frustration away
with the ripping-fast speed
of a lightning ray.
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