The music of
the squeak
of my father’s
bicycle
dragging us up the hill until
in a mad blind freewheel
we tamed the hill
by transforming it into speed
& shrank the distance
ticked off by the spokes
becoming a blur
in time
and how sad I was
when he oiled the clanking chain
& the fiery front wheel
& the bicycle lost its voice
& its ability to sing
in the key of squeak
and how we glided silently in
to Mam & tea & T.V
on this lovely summer evening
in 1963.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-lovely-sunny-afternoon-in-1963/
