Orson's Schwinn

Dented metal
in the garage each
spring, when he gets his 60-
grit sandpaper and
buffs rust. Buys
paint the original olive
drab.

Remembers the first time
he waxed anything
was with his father, summer
of '66. put yer back in it, boy!
with a thump there, for
emphasis.

Thirteen, the Schwinn
sparkeled down the street. A
perfect tick of chain-in-cogs.
He saw Edna on a corner,
in her pink sweater, new
points in polyester bra. He
asked her to a cherry soda.
Sure she smiled. He walked
the bike beside her.

When he returned too late,
his father'd locked him out
so he slept curled in the space
between the rims of his felled
machine on driveway asphalt

Edna finds him
each June 7th morning,
resting under the
workbench, can of
wax open at the wheel
of the bike. She remembers.