A Kid and His Bike
There's Matthew now, at the top of the hill,|
far too big for that battered blue bike;
blonde hair so curly, a source of frustration,
no matter what gel, it won't spike!
He waves to me prior to starting descent
as if saying, 'I'll be there soon, Ma.'
Thank the Lord they made stack hats compulsory;
front wheel wobbles say the bike won't go far.
But the hill is a long one and awfully steep;
bike and rider quickly gain pace.
An almighty groan emanates from the bike,
his big smile disappeared without trace.
Half way down the hill road surface breaks up,
tarred road becomes just loose gravel;
at that point the fork of his bike snapped in two,
on his nose was the remainder of his travel.
All this in slow motion, watched by his mum,
hearing horrible screams as he bounced;
covered in gravel rash, bleeding and torn,
though his mates hero status pronounced.
My dear handsome son...would he be mangled for life?
Would his adult teeth grow back in straight?
For Christmas we purchased a shiny new bike
which he declared one Christmas late.
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