After ten days, Fun Weng stared at himself
in the bathroom mirror.
He had lost Cherry and Golden Helper II.
But at least his knee was better.
His neighbor Hui, had an old Pigeon bicycle
in his bedroom with plastic over it.
Weng watched him put on new tires,
then gulp oil across the chain.
“It hasn’t been ridden since Mao died,” Hui told him.
“But we all have to work, Fun Weng.”
The next day Weng transported what produce he could
in large bundles strapped to the frame.
But it was less than half his usual cargo.
Without Golden Helper II, Weng got a taste of what other
cyclists had been going through all these years.
It made him sad to think what his mother
would have said about all his misfortune.
Once, on the old spring bed,
In the middle of the night,
he sat up and said her name.
Over time, he thought, a person can get used to anything.