the rusted bike

in a bad section
of town,
at a yard sale,
you see
a rusted bicycle
leaning
against
the tree, the chain
off,
the tires
flat,
the streamers
sticking
out of
handle bars,
are still
like wet confetti.
there is a hand
painted sign
taped to it,
ten dollars.
it was a good bike
for some kid,
some kid
now grown,
having forgotten
perhaps
the shine of something
new,
something that
could have taken
him away from here.