Riding a Bike.

When I'm at my parents' house,

all I want to do is a ride a bike.

via

I like to ride

on every road

and cul-de-sac

in the neighborhood.

Today,

my fingers froze

around the handle bars

until I had nothing

but two Lego hands.

The wind

whipped way down

into my ears

and made them hurt.

I looked at peeling mailboxes,

gnarled trees,

inflatable Christmas figures

lying in nylon heaps

on front lawns,

and houses

where children I used to know

once lived.

Above me was

the faint blue winter sky,

always sunny

on the cold days.

In my legs

was the good kind of burning.

In my heart

was a ghost of childhood,

the aftertaste of summertime,

and a sigh of contentment.