Training Wheels

The air blew against my flushed face
and freed me from all my thoughts
I saw nothing but the black road before me,
the rest was a blur.

A dirty pink bike sits in my garage
Two stained wheels and a hard, odd-shaped seat.
The grips, once pink like the colours in a pastel sunset
but now soiled with bits broken away
as if a dog used it as a chew toy.

It smelt like hours in the park, it sounded like
creaky wheels against the footpath
White training wheels held the best memories,
happiness, laughter, tears
My small, rusty bike with scratched pink paint
now sits in a new home, waiting to be used.