The child, arms wrapped around
His mother's waist, dozes off
As she pedals her bicycle
Under the torrid sun.
One arm protects her precious jewel,
The other navigates,
Her shirt soaked by torrents of sweat
That roll down to cool her child's face.
Legs dangling on each side of the wheel,
Occasionally grazed by its spokes,
The child snuggles restlessly behind,
Face pressed against the warmth of mother's back.
The mother pushes her bicycle,
With a final reservoir of energy,
All the while she thinks,
Her chores are never done.
by John E. Tran
