Poem: Father-Son Bonding Moment

My cousin had a motorbike

when he was about eight years old.

He’d always been that way. Capable.

I was two years younger and

not good at things like that.

I didn’t know what I was good at

actually. Talking, I guess.

But because he rode the bike – a full-sized bike,

or near enough, (it seemed pretty huge) I was

encouraged to give it a go.

My dad sat on the back to…