City Kid

by Kathleen Romana


Cicada bugs rattle
the rhythm of summer,
a bike rider echoes back
in shifting clattering gears –
and I remember riding bikes
down these city blocks,
and popsicles from the
ice cream truck,
that melted in sticky sweet trails,
down arms and legs.
We were butterflies
with wings still folded and wet …
exquisite, orange painted savages then
in those golden summer days.

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