School of Hard Knock-downs
the way i remember it was 1962,
summer, dusk. back then,
helmets were for halloween astronauts;
alex of long blond hair and me of short brown astride our new bikes,
mine proud silver, royce union, and in those fateful moments, pristine;
tearing down split-level streets, swoop extravagant,
then sudden collision-slammed to the asphalt. bloody split in opposite directions, gasp/sobbing for our mothers.
as clumsy beta, i took the blame, friendship over,
scraped knees burning with shame like the rest of me,
so easily obliterated.