Things
Our attachments can be bad for our health. Revenge isn't sweet, it lingers and poisons all who inhale it.
131 Jamestown Crescent.
Ontario Public housing.
A tough neighborhood
full of life’s leftovers
drunks, single mothers
teens twirling Paki beaters
old folk with their heads down.
But it was alright for a kid.
It was Toronto the good, after all
not Watts or Brownsville.
There was plenty to do
for me, a young
cheery, easy come, easy go
6-year old.
Long hikes and fishing at Claireville Dam.
Skipping stones across the Humber River.
Stealing apples from the orchard on Martin Grove.
25-cent Saturday action movies, Albion Mall.
Baseball weekends behind Greenholm P.S.
Of course, there was my bike.
A new, bright red
Schwinn Stingray with
the banana seat and sissy bar.
Man, I could ride that thing!
A king on his castle.
I couldn’t have had it
more than a few weeks and
I saw a lampost poster
”Bike Rodeo”
put on by the cops.
I was in.
Day came.
I rode through those cones
rode straight on those lines
hit the brakes on a dime and
won me a nice little trophy
and streamers for my handlebars.
I was riding home
pleased as can be
taking the long way on John Garland
’cuz the pavement was so smooth
when
two guys jumped out at me
pushing me and my bike over.
A few punches
a few kicks and
it was over.
The bike was gone.
Trophy too.
I told my parents
and they filed a hopeless report.
What I remember most
was not being sad.
No tears. Not one.
I slept well.
I even hoped that
whoever had that bike
would enjoy it and
take good care of her.
I want to become
that kid again.
If you liked this read, you might enjoy Then And Now.
That touched me.