[Critique Group 1] Sally's June submission: A poem that might work better as prose?

[sanford.rosenthal at comcast.net]

                                                          TRAINING WHEELS

 

 

Even at six a cautious child,

with brow furrowed in deep concentration,

I pedaled my blue two-wheeler 

over cracked cement and uneven bricks 

while my middle-aged father jogged behind,

alert to wobbles that could erode

his disabled daughter's budding skill.

Wisely, he mentioned only later

The training wheels on which I relied

were bent and no longer touched the ground.

With them removed, I flew around the block

with an ease I never felt when walking

and left my cheering father far behind.

 

 
By Sally Rosenthal

 

 

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