The Accident

My dad imparted
his love of motorcycles
some time ago
and it has been
a bonding point
ever since.

Early on
post-college
pre-profession
when I was sick and listless
our rides were the
only times lacking contention.

On our way back
from the illustrious
Oregon, IL
it began to sprinkle,
then drizzle, then rain
and my dad pulled off to reconnoiter.

But we were too close
and he cut right too quick
my back wheel locked
and began to slide
as the bike itself slowly
titled, then fell to the ground.

Not a crash but a wipe out surely. Unpleasant at 30 mph.

In pain and angry
I wriggled from beneath
the mound of metal
and ripped off my helmet
ready to rage
at my thoughtless progenitor.

As I stalked towards him
he removed his helmet
and I could see his face
had drained of color
and he looked at me, haunted, dreading
in that instant all my fury dissipated like a fog under the faithful sun.

The accident
was incidental
and what I saw was the
fear a father has of out living his child
I shrugged it off and made light to ease his worry,
comforted by the display, however morbid, of everlasting love.