When it was stolen, light blue
I saw it everywhere, gripped
Handlebars and hands.
Always in that same place, dolphin
clicking past, someone new
on its back
Each time I wanted
to push them off, steal
my saddle beauty, my windy
ride down hills—so close
to flight
Once, chained up: a scratch
in that same place, so I knew
But nice cops couldn’t cut it
free without numbers—proof
I had paid
It was the old kind you know:
Brake via backwards-pedal,
and no gears-- just knees
Imagine that: speed stops
in the real world just by digging
in your heels a little, and you
breathe: you exist
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