John Kucera
Summer 1993
I remember watching my father stop
Halfway up the driveway because my bicycle
Was blocking the way to the garage,
And how he solved the problem
By picking up the bicycle by the handlebars
And smashing it through the windshield
Of our brand new Chrysler station wagon,
His face red with scotch, his black tie
And jacket flapping with effort, the bicycle
Making its way a little farther with each blow
Into the roomy interior of the latest model
As the safety glass relented, the bicycle
And the windshield both praiseworthy
In their toughness, the struggle between them
Somehow making perfect sense
In midday on our quiet suburban street,
The windshield the anvil, the Huffy bicycle the hammer,
The marriage the forge, and failure
Glowing in the heat, beaten
And tempered, slowly taking shape.
_______________
John Kucera was educated at Carlow University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in New Reader Magazine, The Sandy River Review, Utopia Science Fiction, Slant, Connections Magazine, and Friends Journal. He currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where he writes and teaches.
Author’s Backstory: I wrote this poem shortly after my father passed away. He was an alcoholic who had a temper.
Editor’s Notes and/or Image Credit: A bicycle [photo by Christin Hume on Unsplash] and broken windshield glass [pngwing.com] in symbolic representation
