My Red Schwinn and Bird Shot

“While others cycled to dusty fields,/sported bats and mitts, shouted to claim/their favorite positions, I was alone,/my red Schwinn and me—no/deception of ritual, no useless chatter,/no bad calls, no vicarious parents.”

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Publisher's Note:

This work is preserved in Merion West’s archive of articles and poems published from 2016 through early 2025. Explore the archive