On the sun-washed days

The wheels beneath the baby carriage hummed

As my father pedaled and thought

Of the evening ride’s miles

When he would exceed the posted speed limits.

My interest in paradise waned as it fell apart.

Solid, son of Mongol hordes—

The man my mother thought she would marry.

He peeled the rind from the universe

And bade me drink its sweet juice

Its fight-for-life beauty.

Hair like whisps, models’ legs—

The woman my father married.

He overtook her—

But wheel-speed, he insisted,

Is not like animal dances--

Skill isn’t prerequisite for love.

While I, far in years from carriages

Lose myself in inked strength-lines

In kicks and spins, in sweat-scent

Virulence, violence, vitality—

Soft, words like train tracks clacking--

The man my mother thinks she might marry.

His shuffle repels me

His over-kindness readies me for treachery.

I cannot admire his gait, so cannot understand

Her love; cannot overcome--

Conditioning…

Misunderstanding.