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their bikes arrived

today, shinny
and wrapped in various
plastics, papers and bubbles.
bedizenned with lights
and a veneer of newness.

the old ones covered
in rust, dirt and decay
laid on top of each other,
chained together like a pair of dying dogs—
ferrel and ready to be put out of their misery.

the combination of the lock
had been forgotten,
so he removed the front tires,
to free them.
his fingers covered in grease,
the frustration building
the nuts would not loosen
the forks would not budge.

he becomes angry with
his limited mechanical skills.
he has given up on machines
since that first kite
he couldn’t make fly
with his father.

stringing words together
comes more naturally
or even a few chords
or movie clips.
ideas.
images.

he moves
the two freed carcasses to a corner,
unsure how to dispose of them.
 
he thinks of children
world wide craving clean water,
as he chains up the new bikes
and covers them to protect
the hand grips from the rain.

he contemplates a list of words
on the elevator back upstairs:

sacrifice
family
equity
poverty
entitlement
blessings
luck
gratitude