Bycicles

a poem about the past

We rode around on bikes

Down the streets with dad,

Peddled through the night

To our little spot we had.

We’d all go to the bank,

Closed, to ride around in the lot,

Which had bumps and ways

And perfect wheely spots.

The parking became base,

The kiosk part of a loop.

The ride became a chase,

curbs things to kick trash through.

Then we’d go to dairy queen,

Sweaty and past ten.

Each sibling got something.

Oreo blizzards for our win.

My dad went alone with his

brothers when they were young

Sometimes I wonder about my future kids.

And I hope they’ll have that same fun.

Thanks for reading!