Hot asphalt, then - Sky.
A loose tire by the creek.
The wound is red and raw and full of rocks,
But I barely make a squeak.
Though I feel it on the inside -
Oh, it burns beyond belief -
I pick out all the rocks myself,
and never even shriek.
Water cleansed, and salve applied.
A bandage, wrapped and neat.
With my bike picked up from the creekside muck,
I wheel it down the street -
And I only grit my teeth!
When I make it home, my mother shouts:
"Come in, it's time to eat!"
So I toss the evidence into the woods,
And then limp to my seat.
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 11:26 AM UTC