“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”

                                                                          -Albert Einstein

I ride a bike to school each day

she`s emerald green

and as classy as can be

I poliah her with wax in the mid autum sun

I do my best to remove the scuffs

because it seems I`m rather clumsy

late afternoon I`m out with the horses

the scabbs on my claf crack like snicker doodles in the oven

they burn like cookies that have been forgotten

for days

they rubb against my saddle

a sticky layer of blood covers the freshly oiled leather

the result of falling off a bycicle

 

my skin doesn`t fit right

it rubbs painfully against Me

it was mutalted...scars do that

my nails are scrapeing the back of my hand

I`m focused on

the Elkins theory of slavery

or something

history class does that

there`s skin on my desk

powdered

a cheese grater

up and down back and forth

it`s late at night 

 

morning rolls around

I`m rolling out bandages

putting on long sleeves

singing to myself

what a life to be brave in

some weeks later a freind points to the pink skin

"how`d that happen."

"fell off my bike."

I shift my hands and do my best to sit still

and stay blanced