Kevin McLellan and Steven DeMaio

affixed to the end
of a spoke:

for his training
wheels: if only
this simple: the seat

stolen and no bell:
now the braking
left foot tucked

where the backside
should be: steps
1 and 2 and 10

partly worn off
and the no longer

"do not…": a link
to his father’s incessant
"will you just..."

and so forth and so on:
now the kickstand: a prop
for the missing

words: also missing:
the helmet the color
of plastic army men:

a water bottle
holder: and the voice
of his mother:






This poem began not with a word or an idea but a simple impulse to collaborate. The process could not have been more mutual, more seamless. Two imaginations, two memories conspired. One circle emerged.