“Bike”

May truth be your sore,
aching by the flood
of Bactine.
May infection be your chore,
trying to win back
the brain.

How many mothers
have cleaned your knee
after you lost your balance
along the curb;
With fleshy grass stains
dotting the underside
of your skirt?

narrative poem written on 03-16-2010 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem

SHARE THIS POEM!

- Remove line breaks