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Peggy

My childhood bike was bright blue
with a shiny bell I used to ring
to make the bullies snarl.

I named it Peggy,
from Pegasus, of course,

and rode it everywhere,
thankful for empty streets,
smooth asphalt,
and small freedoms.

Two lives later,
I find it in New York,

rusty,
chained to a pole,
buried in snow.

I wish I could hop on it,
I wish I could
hop on it and be
12 again, I wish

I could ride it downtown
as if I rode the wind,

I wish Pegasus
would get back its wings,

and I'd ring the bell,
ring-ring,

and suddenly
it would be summer.