CEMETERY
wobbling all
over the tiny roads
I leant to cycle
in the cemetery
the one up
at the top
of our
cul-de-sac road
later in life
was to go
full Kawasaki
but here was enough
just to
find my balance, know
that my Dad’s
steadying hand
had released the seat
even so
rapt in this focus, on
my technological arc
was not unable to notice
the host of graves (including
my grandfather’s) and
almost at
each point of the compass
the four
small chapels
so much stone
enough to turn
regular into
philosopher with
each sweetly marked spot little
conundrum of consciousness
later
under Libra, very sign of measure,
a native of October would
blitz my
belief system
spin his sense-shattering yarn
on power and the soul
Ah,
I get it now
things binary
be unavoidable
I pedal to
negotiate them
(look Dad! No hands!
and on
only two wheels)
must to my chagrin
my sister doing much better
and still
beloved, treasured as
it is
as seminal experience
the memory
still haunts me, still
battling to
find my feet, to steer, to
thread my
consummate way
through to
the very endgame
