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Contents Page: July 1, 2011, vol 7 no 2

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Victor Maddalena


My Bicycle (circa. 1966)

On a spring day a friend rides by and calls my name.

The first day on our bikes after a long winter was always a cause for celebration. Our legs pump like pistons as we glide along the streets of our neighbourhood. We race and dodge imaginary foes. At the top of the big hill by the school, we pause and survey the expanse before us, like skydivers standing at the open door. With horns honking and bells ringing we plunge ourselves into the abyss.

red lips
rosy cheeks


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