Like riding a bike
We do half-moons around each other’s
personal safety circles,
past carbuncled stumps, potholed
pavements, car bonnets.
Yet, pure-as-glass children
still shout out to strangers,
amidst this absence of playful
passing bys and high-fives.
We have to shrug it off,
this yearning for touch.
Back and forths across park fields –
must postpone hugs.
Where does it end?
Where is the line crossed?
If a learning-to-ride child
wobbled and then flopped
off their bike –
knees all scuffed –
would we stop and pick them up?
They’re learning too,
all these new rules,
the sliding scale of age,
teachings of temporary measures.
Would exuberant youth
stick out a palm to
the two-metre long
reach of help and refuse?
Picking up their bikes,
no shrieks, return to size-four feet
to hop back on the seat
and go again.
Christy Hall
westhillwhistler.com 