how 2 ride a bike

acquire a father & love him more
than anyone has ever loved god. feel guilty
for loving your father more than god. 
wonder if your father is god.
wonder if when they say 
"god the father," in church, 
they mean that a little piece 
of god is in each father. 

never tell him this. let god believe
you think he's an average man with average
human needs. fill his glass with ice
& diet soda. make him dinner when you can.
leave his shoes side by side nice
at the front door for when he wakes up.

leave the bike on the porch so that
he has to pass it each morning. the blue bike
that you pretend is a dragon or a horse
depending on the day. feed the bike 
bowls of oats & brush its imaginary hair.
never play like this in front of god,
wait until he's gone.

don't ask for what you want, you wait
for god to offer. you can pray sure
but you know that doesn't work. you have tried
praying for lots of important things 
and so many unimportant things. god might
have blocked your number by now.
there is a dial tone in the center
of all the trees you find. 

wait for god to offer. sit on the porch
in your best patience. sit with your 
good sneakers tied, the black & red ones
the ones that used to light-up but now don't.
wait there. they said it was going to storm
tonight. you can test out his love
& ask if maybe it could not rain tonight.
tell the sky you wanted to learn
to ride your bike.

listen to the crash. know you
did nothing wrong but that the earth is busy
washing its face & god is busy measuring
cup after cup of rain & that inside
god is holding a remote & is walking 
barefoot. his feet always look 
paler than they should to you. you wait
for cracks in the sky where heave
will leak white loud color.