Atalanta on Wheels

Four teenagers ride by
on their bicycles
through the park;
two boys are in front
a girl behind them;
a boy in the rear cries out
"I hate you, I really hate you!"

Seeing the girl proves his lie
there is no way this boy
would hate this girl:
sleek as a racehorse
her legs smooth
as chiseled marble,
this is a girl
to be worshiped not hated.

As he passes me
in his eyes I can read it;
indeed worship
is the correct word -
this boy pants hard
to catch up to his goddess.

She turns to him
the taunt ringing in her ears
but instead of scorn
she merely smiles;
the leap in his heart
can be felt
like an earthquake;
then they are swallowed
in the bower of the park.