bicycle club

we ride in the park
a gang of ruffians
with baseball primary colored caps
and skinned knees
but we don't aim to please
we merely enjoy the bump of the road
as she caresses us over the pellets of rock
and the fragile little bones of trees
twigs and pebbles mean nothing to us
because this

this is the last summer.

but we like to forget that
and merely smile and clear our minds
as we look up at the sunlight fighting to catch a glimpse of us
from between the leafy green canopy
and the grass doesn't sway
because it is summer
and the wind has gone to vacation
like the clerk at the butcher shop

and i.
i ride on my bicycle
forgetting about what lies ahead
but still.
riding towards it.

-Pamplemousse