Abba
by beighartman
Between bent blinds
Kaleidoscoping the balmy afternoon sidewalk
A small boy snaps the latch of his helmet
Sandy-hair in protruding tufts around the edges
With watermelon smile he climbs on his bicycle
Absent of training wheels—discarded in the lawn
Shakily he pedals forward, adding quickening speed
But while looking back for his father’s adulation
In a moment of jubilance he forgets his balance
His plump-lipped grin drowned by dilated pupils
Watching bright red handlebars ripple and swerve
Pitching him forward onto the sunburned cement
Tangled appendages and twirling aluminum spokes
Are instantly charged by his monitoring father
Retrieving a bawling boy from the wreckage
Firm forearms hold the trembling mass to his chest
Offering unreserved comfort to his fallen child
And beyond the window he mouths the words
It’s okay, it’s okay, you’ll be all right
The sobbing subsides and the father gently brushes
Asphalt scorched elbows and pebbled palms
Before kissing moist, ruddy, and chubby cheeks
And the boy nods his bulbously helmeted head
Together they salvage his bicycle upright
His father grasps tightly to the colored bars
As the boy confidently, with his father’s help
Remounts his position onto the plastic seat
Stepping back the father examines his courageous son
Who taking a deep breath recovers his pert smirk
His deliberate eyes narrowing as he looks onward
In the faith that his father will follow him every step
And with every tick and churn of the tire spindle
Direct his journey along the uneven sidewalks
That should he falter, his father without question
Will unconditionally come to his child’s rescue
All we have to do, is trust
