First Freedom

The first bike I recall I owned

Was rusty green and not two toned.

The ride was old, but to me new,

Still and all, it really flew.

The rhythm, strong on my left leg,

It came to me with just one peg.

With practice I soon lost the need,

For the one that time had freed.

Such balance would not let me stand,

Or ply the jumps and safely land.

One bitter day the fork broke loose,

And flipped me onto my caboose.

I haven't thought, for quite a while,

The memory brings a wistful smile.