We walk out of the coffee shop, into the crush
of bodies, girls clad in hot pants, shirts slung

tight, smashing their breasts as a trash compactor
smashes garbage, hair soft as a Husky’s

bottom and gleaming like fake enamel. But I
hold onto my girl’s smooth hand, until

my eyes fall on a metallic glint. A red
bicycle leaned against a lamp post as a woman

leans onto her lover’s shoulder,
hooked together in a iron embrace. I oogle

at spokes, savor the curve of its rim,
the shine of its sprockets, hot pedals crank

desire, voluptuousness in steel, radiance
in aluminum alloy that covers the sweep

of your scarlet handlebars. Oh how I wish
to sit in your saddle, flex my fingers on your smooth

step-through frame, bend your hydraulic
cables under my delicate but insistent touch. I bet

that lout sipping his iced chai near you doesn’t know
how to ease you down with oil and grease your tubes,

or spin your wheels so fast you whir with pleasure.
I’ll fill up your saddlebags and you’ll groan under my weight—

But a girl presses her palm into mine again,
though I forgot that my fingers slipped,

and beckons me down the street, away from my
rubber beauty, steel-framed inamorata,

paramour of paint, gears, and chains.

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Welcome to Problem Child

Problem Child offers an alternative medium for publication of poetry, prose, artwork, essays, and other creative media by semi-annually publishing the Problem Child Literary Magazine. Problem Child aims to publish and promote individual original thought by creating and hosting a creative community.