We are careening down the hill towards the Cameron Street Bridge.
Obsolete it offers nothing but stone pylons to the oncoming traffic
He is zipping ahead
His bike is too small
Our destination only a vague memory
I am afraid he will crash.
A rock will slide under is tire
Or in turning he will catch the edge of the sidewalk
And he will fall
Scraping along the pavement in the warm April sun.
Anxious I hang back
Not sure if I trust him.
Unaware of my fears
He blithely races forward
Eager for the next turn.
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