Billy boy's ride

Boy and two-wheeled chariot
tore out of the backyard at three-thirty
bound for wherever handle bars and whim
would go.

Fresh, unfettered chasing god knows what
in a boys head on a windy roadmap,
Billy pumped and swerved and tore up the side
of Mrs. Baker's poor excuse for a raised bed
of blooming something or others--getting air--Yes!
And across the dirt lane, around the corner and gone.

Beads of dirty sweat

measuring distance wicked along
his framed in face of brown curls as the bike pulled up
Slocum Road and down a narrow footpath onto George's
Farm then in between rows and rows of corn that sting and
scratch but made the shortcut to the other side appear.

A hill, for some, but twelve tested pistons almost thirteen flatten
uphills into molehills, then cresting for the downhill glide of arms
crossed and boy smiling through the filtered sunlight, air and freedom of
the moment that was all his.

Soon zig-zaging two on foot and through a rush of mysterious perfumed
air, one calls out, "Hey Billy! Where you going?" A long slow
blackened skid brings the boy around and to attention.

Standing on his pedals and balanced perfectly...erect..., and knowing trees
would be easier to dodge, the boy smiles, they talk and talk some more
until he is dismissed.

Exit is everything at times like this;  the wheelie perfect and hop for the hell
of it an exclamation point and send-off to the Gidley Woods whose wet narrow paths
pulse with invite, begging speed and muscle just because.

Adults might miss the meaning of a slimy wide plank above a nearly
dried up brook, but Billy hit it straight dead-center and blasted to the other side
and it was good
until his pedal clipped a stump and sent him sideways through the forest
air, until bone and bike were in a tangled heap and hurting.

The forest startled into a perfect eery stillness, completely... assessing this man
child's noisy intrusion. Before the flipped up tire stopped
spinning, though, crickets gave the all clear and chickadees came closer to investigate.

Billy got up slowly on bloodied knee, gently brushing moss and mud from a
scratched up temple. The bike faired better but Billy walked it still until he reached a
clearing and more confidence.

Billy, back on top and the woods behind him,
threaded homeward through late day shadows, crisscrossing side streets, through the Sunoco Station and across the town cemetery. On Seaver Street the punk
who stayed back last year spotted Billy and gave chase, dumb enough to think
he might catch Billy by running after him on foot.

Just before the street lights came on Billy rolled into his yard and coasted to the
back porch and stopped to hear his mother ask, "Hi Billy, where you been?"

"Ride'n mom. What's for supper?"

Comments

[www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1622725541]

What, Kevin? No helmet? Strangers and other dangers???????

This is a great poem -- lots of action, lots of adrenaline, lots of feelings.

Also, the importance of childhood, and how it lasts for the rest of our lives. And how great your retreats are, wrapping our children in love while breaking down a lot of boundaries between and amongst ourselves, even if we can't zoom through the cornfields and woods.

Thank you

[Kevin]

Hello Martha,

Oh... thanks for knowing that in fact, "Billy" did not have a helmet on! This is true.

I also appreciate your sense and take on the poem as well. Wonderful... and thanks for commenting, too.

My best,
KEvin

[Wendyl]

Reminds me of the miles and miles of adventures my brother would go on...and now I'm learning that my son also ranged far further than I ever would have imagined - miles and miles, and many "secret" wild places scattered through tame suburbia. Such a different experience than mine...girl bikerides always had a goal (store, park, library) and a posse - solitary trips were highly unusual.

[Kevin Lee]

And I can still remember how far I wandered while growing up in Boston. "Don't go beyond the projects" was my mother's rule. But hey, she didn't say which projects... as in East Boston or the South End, or Broadway..... and that nickle took us to a train stop and who knows where... and while riding, we saw lots of projects so we figured that it was all good!

Kevin

[Bria]

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