for Hana
She calls it her bicyble,
and though I could've had the shop assemble it,
I wanted to do it myself.
I wanted to grease the axles
align the wheels
tighten the spokes, myself.
Not for the ten bucks
but for the peace of mind
knowing that I made it ready for her.
In the store, she hopped on the floor model
and took off down the aisle,
the clerk marveling at this three-year-old's ability.
Like father like daughter, I thought.
And now we're out here
on the bike path,
waddling along,
loving it more than the Tour de France,
more than all other tours combined.
Some day soon, at her tugging,
I'll remove the training wheels.
We'll go to a park.
I'll help her keep balanced at first,
my hand placed, inconspicuously,
not to break her concentration.
Then, picking up speed
on some small grassy downhill -
'cause that's where the books say
kids should be taught to ride a two-wheeler -
I'll remove my hand,
while running alongside, and slowly
let her go.
