Stability

Three points of contact with the pavement,

The wide, white, solid wheels of my tricycle

Had anchored me safely to the ground.

From the safety of its red leather seat I could

Reach up a hand and snatch the

blowsy blossom from the trees,

Or careen careless around the corner by the bus stop,

Leant back

legs out straight,

Toes pointing upwards to the sky.

Newly promoted from kiddy-trike to big-kid-bike,

I watched – petulant - as my father screwed stabilisers

Carefully on to the back wheel:

Two tiny guardians to help me keep my balance,

Stop the wobble in the narrow tyre.

I ached to have them removed:

To be free to wheel through the streets

With the big kids,

Feel the thrill of the wind through my hair,

Stand up on the pedals

And be grown.

I sulked all morning until my father took them off,

My ears deaf to his reasoning.

Liberated from the training wheels,

The bicycle seat seemed higher.

My feet slipped on the pedals as I tipped and toppled

again and again.

At last, my resolve dissolved with my tears,

And, picking the gravel from my bloody knees,

I begged through gritted teeth to have the

Hated things put back.

That afternoon, my father tinkered in the driveway

While I rode off around the block

As if there had never been

Any question about the stabilisers –

Those three points of contact with the pavement

Keeping me anchored safely to the ground.