Bicycle With Balloons

Peddling in puddles, and peddling
Some more, I saw you stranger, riding
With a charm of insane, calling out
Names in vain. You had a corsage of
Gum, which is pink and has a certain
Hum, I’ve called it grandma’s dyed hair
And found you with it everywhere. I speak
Of it in a mist, because though I watched
You today, I am too afraid to come close;
But, like the good old days, nothing falters
Your smile when a kid slurps pink in delight;
I’ve seen versions of you in blind light,
A more few; candies and toys and balloons
Always have your rough skin cocooned.
I’ve seen you soak wet in the rain, and burn
You skin in the sun’s crane. Sweat and
Tanned heart have stabled your start.
I don’t know your reasons, but I’ve seen
Your tidily frame every season; I’ve seen
Your smile disappear to the hardships
You need to wear. From a distance, all I
Can say is that you haven’t had the chance
To mould your own clay, and you couldn’t
Know it, you couldn’t see, how, to be a kid
Again, you’ve inspired me. I still have the
Water gun you had let me think I won,
I still feel its radius smoothing out the lines
That worries bring. I remember your
Yellow teeth converging the carnival of
Its seethe; I remember the stick you carried
And said, with you, it would be buried.
I haven’t seen your bicycle or the white flag,
You held at war; I haven’t given you food
In a long time or heard your arrival at my
Wind chime. I miss watching your balloons
Float into a rainbow where we sail in boats,
I miss the colours so pretty, and the strings
Which lifted me to the sea, so I could see.
Peddling in puddles, and peddling
Some more, I saw you stranger, riding
Into a lost oblivion, because I never came
To your aid, when that ever so same bicycle
With balloons was too old for my games
And you thought you were to blame.

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