Handlebars

grime

black and gritty

stone and rock

in the skin

underneath

chewed up cement

and green bottle glass

from a bar fight

with a purpled winner

hot air

pearly skin

with freckles

dancing,

tumbling,

spinning

scraping

along the asphalt

spokes halting

tires screeching

bodies flying

in pendulum pirouettes

nevermind

that though

because

we are children

in an alley way

laughing

hollering

crying

plucking

green bottle glass

from our knees

together as friends

and pretend pilots

driving our jets

reporting back to

base

of the willow tree

where the swing

hangs too low

for our knobby

knees

while our ankles

drag heavily in the

dirt below

back by sundown

back at it again

in the morning

after breakfast

after our knees

are healed and

scabbed

ready for the

next

crash

of childhood