Back then, it was just us, the wind, and nothing to do.
Then she came along.
She was cherry red, the same as the color of our
faces in autumn, with yellow handlebars that had a
gold tint, not quite yellow and not yet orange.
Her sides were slick, her wheels thick, and her body
adorned with stickers of Boots, Dora, and that nasty Swiper.
She did not always belong to us.perhaps she came
from our little sister's collection, perhaps not.
She came to us second, the first came down with
something called : our older brother stepped on her and she broke.
She stood there, taunting, and ready.
With no one around, she became ours;
just us, the wind, and the latest in Dora tricycles.
My older sister took the wheel, and I the rear.
I planted my feet squarely in front of me, ready.
Get ready, get set, go!
The wheels began turning, flying, scraping,
scratching, sliding, pulling faster and faster.
Our hair flying, mouth's gaping, feet scraping,
hands gripping, arms turning, stomach churning.
Faster and faster still, taking a corner, rounding a corner,
hitting a bump, almost tripping over that bump -we flew.
Everyday down the hall and back up, twice over, three
times over we went.
We rode down the driveway, made a 360, came running back,
took the corner, and the handlebar came off.
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