boy on a bike

the first we knew of him
was the night-loud clinking
of our neighbour’s pick-up chain
swinging in pendulous reply
to his drink-slow collision

he lay in contented repose
upon the moon soaked road
five feet away from the still
whirling wheel of his bike
its fallen frame grin bright

under half-hearted streetlights
we helped him to his feet
concerned that he might be hurt
more than he knew or cared
but no, don’t call my mother

so we led him to the pavement
to walk his tired bike back home
yeah fine and thu-thanks man
echoing round the sleepy crescent
as off he rode to joust again with traffic

Karen Doherty

If you've any comment on this poem, Karen Doherty would be pleased to hear from you.