For the first time, in a long time.

I finally found myself driven to write. And the word that inspired me, was broke. Why, I'm not quite entirely sure. I started this piece by simply jotting down the word broke, and this is what happened. I ended up driving a broken bicycle through a memory and a family narrative. And much like getting back up on a bicycle, I found myself writing poetry again. Was it due to the lack of time, or the lack of artistic energy within myself. I'm not quite sure, but here it is. A special something pulled out of the garage of my mind:

12.11.2007 [801 Ohio, Urbana Illinois]

in a family garage

a bicycle lies in the back of a garage
tires deflated
a seat that has been gnawed by squirrels
a chain that has been rusted, gnawed by time

once this bicycle rode through the streets
passing pedestrians
bells chiming
making way for freedom
creating breezes
delivering newspapers
delivering stories to friends

now it is forgotten
displaced and alone
surrounded by blue mason jars
full of old nails
full of old screws

nails and screws that were left over
from the house that was built
to home a family of four
from the garage that was built
to shelter cars, artifacts, memories

enter a boy, enter a son
enter a man, enter a father
two beings, one a shadow of the other
he holding a rag
him holding a bucket

with one swipe of soapy shirt
the white stripe bursts off
of a red painted cross bar
with one swipe of a soapy shirt
the reflectors on pedals
shine with the Saturday afternoon sun once again




Kevin M. Reader