My Bicycle

by Andrew Dufresne
Wild Poetry Forum
Second Place, July 2018
Judged by Kathleen Hellen


My bicycle was black and silver, had laser
cannons, anti-gravity supersonic switches,
a two way radio that could reach secret
locations. Its wing span was forever changing.

Much like now, actually. My bicycle took
me to Mars, Jupiter, Pluto, Saturn, Mercury
(because of its special cooling system)
the Moon, and Uranus. Uranus. Get it?

Much like now, actually. My bicycle did
ten gerzillion thousand miles an hour on Friday
nights when no one knew where I was or
what I was doing. That was cool. It was.

Much like now, actually. My bicycle is
enshrined in the My-sonian Institute next
to my younger imagination, my first kiss,
my wildest dream. My bicycle rocked.

My bicycle spoke to me last night in a
dream. It said, Bicycle to Boy, urgent, urgent,
many things need rescuing, please contact
me ASAP. Like now, now, now, actually.


Whimsical detail, language that flies (“anti-gravity supersonic switches,” “ten gerzillion thousand miles in an hour”) are skillful counterpoint to the urgency of theme: How to recover what we forfeit when we age and cease to dream? In this delightful poem, the bicycle serves as central metaphor for unrestrained potential, our “wildest dreams.” It speaks to us like a radio from “secret/locations,” “… please contact/ me ASP. Like now, now, now….” --Kathleen Hellen