We split the salt
air between the beach
and boards cracking
beneath our weight,
Miles, in the orange seat
fastened to the front of my bike,
chubby fingers stretching
for sirens, the firefighters light
with lack of emergency.
They toss ages out for us
to catch and confirm back,
a game we all love to win,
because Miles looks
so much bigger than he is,
baby curls trailing out
the back of his helmet.
Even now, he amazes
his sister tracing his shadow,
and me, trying to tune my glasses
to less oldest expectation,
more carefree, tufted little,
ever balanced on the bars
of my bike.
First published in Cider Press Review
Miles in the Orange Seat by Abigail Michelini | Poetry Fabric Box
$15.00Price
