【by Maggie Ondrey】

I let you pull out a blue bike and ask me if the helmet fit okay yesterday,
Got back on after years of saying I was just asking to get hurt,
That I would deserve the bruises that would eventually find their way onto me.

We took it slow, you asked me how it felt and said I looked happy—
That the helmet looked nice and safety suited me perfectly.

Thank you for reteaching me how to bike in a city—
In a city I love sharing with you,
In a bed I make love with you.

Fix my brakes forever and I’ll never stop getting better,
Now we head bang at the stop light to house music
As we bike down Back Bay and yell out Numbers posed with questions. Look back with your left leg straightened out Riding the wave of our downhill home.

Your pant leg is tucked into your white ankle socks, bronze dusted sneakers touching the pedals like lovers cheek to cheek. When you slow down and reach out your hand on an empty dog bark lit street, I tell you I’m not good enough for one handed steering

And just like our first lesson on city biking, you affirm that safety suits me perfectly.