My trusty bike
Biking – a gift bestowed upon me by papa
Placing obstacles to form a figure 8,
papa taught us to maneuver the four-wheeler from young.
Moving up and plunging down the slopes are cautious affairs
as papa taught us to fear.
With a bike in hand
getting lost in a new city is less daunting.
Kilometres do not matter
When you know you can fly on wheels.
In a whizz,
the number of traffic lights that have to be crossed passed by.
Darkness becomes smaller
for the minutes spent in its cloak are immaterial.
A bike may pale alongside its metallic counterparts
where roads run wide and vast in the suburbs.
When the north-eastern winds blow
You can only attempt to fight a feeble fight against the force of nature.
Yet the beauty of the bike beckons.
Bringing it up the kerb
As I grab a hot coffee and tea egg,
I thank Papa for letting me have a good friend in THE bike.
I dedicate this poem, written in Taitung, Taiwan where I rode so much in a lifetime and where I won't have gone so far and wide if not for the bike
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