poetry critical

online poetry workshop

my mother had two wheels

cold mud on a hill
kids think is a mountain
their hands built
gasoline fumes, hips
shifted off, get the whole
foot flat on the ground
the bike under you trembling
skyward restrained, barely so
the breath tumbling out
of your chattering teeth
stand on your pegs,
old woman, you've got
a few moves, clutch out
throttle on and fall
and fast
banging knees
rattling your skull
back wheel sliding
your leg out trying
to balance trying not to
stop moving
through the turn
laughter shimmying out
of your chestmouth
the engine breathes
foot up and go

13 Jan 18

(define the words in this poem)

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