Unicycle Boy
As soon as the snow melts,
Unicycle Boy will be at it again,
wobbling up the ramp outside my window,
clinging to quadrangle clock,
which doesn’t well tell time,
with all four faces different.
I would I was like Unicycle Boy,
despite bruised-ass/scraped-palms;
even with winter’s healing,
and newfound un-scraped knees,
he’ll get back up and teeter again
(and I’ve always wanted to try).
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