I am six years old in the first grade and my father sits me atop my first bicycle. He holds the handle bars and the back of the seat running alongside before pushing and yells, hold on, hold on, don’t fall.
Somehow I keep myself upright as I hurtle down a small hill, off the sidewalk and across the street where I bounce over the curb into the side of a building. My dad yells turn, turn So I steer left and he yells, pedal, pedal. As I try pushing the pedals he suddenly yells brake, brake! I don’t know how to brake so I steer toward a fire hydrant and my aim is good. I go over the handle bars and the fire hydrant then bounce off a parked car, land on the sidewalk and get scrapes and bruises like someone gathering wild flowers and my father says next time will be easier.
Zvi A. Sesling has published poetry in numerous magazines both in print and online He has published four books of poetry and three poetry chapbooks. He lives in Brookline, MA with his wife Susan H. Dechter.