she cannot hope for anything better
than what she was on our red rust –
wagon’s wheels grinding as dad pulled us.
no wonder it’s called a flyer, but
then again she flew faster on a trek
and she fell faster too because
i stole your training wheels and
dad pushes not pulls.
now you push on new pedals
in roofed red metal with adjusting seats
where signs say forty-five but I say,
sixty – eighty – let’s go faster
our van is no match for a radio flyer but
i want us to speed so can you break at least this rule.
maybe careening can we again feel
cracked sidewalks and I think for the rush
you spin your wheels faster still
and faster and “faster!”
so much so that she screams it too –
im not even pushing anymore)
on this road we cannot help
but hope to hear cracked sidewalks
and rusted glee