Red.

My bike is red.

No pads, I’m free,
only a helmet protecting me.

I ride lightning fast past Herman,
take a speeding turn on Upas,
and make a screeching stop on #30^th.

Red.

Red for all the blood I shed
when I fell and cracked my head.
Red for the 6 coats they put
on my Mongoose burgundy red.

Red.

Red for what I saw when I fell.
Red for when I’m on my bed,
with an icepack on my head.
Red for all the tears I shed,
when I fell and hit my head.

Red.

Red for the icepack color,
that was wrapped in a towel.
Red for the color of it after my head
has bled.

Red.

Red for when I hit my head,
and I sat in bed,
when I cracked my head.