The Freedom Of A Bicycle

The Freedom Of A Bicycle

My mother once said to me, looking back on it all, I guess we were poor. I never felt that way though, she said.

I thought then that neither did I. A second hand bike when I was nine years old didn’t mean poor to me.

When my father, and Max whom he bought it from, told me how to get on the seat and how to pedal, then as my father ran alongside me, holding onto the back of the seat, talking to me the whole way, then letting go as he said keep pedaling, me not knowing that he had already let go, and I was driving this brand new bike, to me anyway, all by myself, I felt free.

That’s rich, not poor.

The next day I was up early and took my new bike, to me anyway, for a spin – even crossed Carew Street which I wasn’t supposed to do – my mother’s rule.

I was free. Totally free as the air ran through my hair, for the first time ever not falling in my face.

I was not an easy rider. But I maneuvered best I could, feeling the challenge of it all.

I haven’t known that sense of freedom since then.

Until now when Mossad put out signals that they’re about to assassinate me for criticizing Israel and the Jews who hold Palestinians captive on their own homeland.

via British Petroleum and British intelligence probably.

I wonder if a girl’s father from beyond the grave can turn that table?

You see, to my mother and father I’m their child – forever. It doesn’t matter that I’m 72 years old.

Who are you betting on?

Mom and Dad, both whom Mossad took credit for killing, are in agreement and say to me, you don’t need us.

It took me many years to finally fight back. They couldn’t be happier.

To Mossad and every other terror organization in the world, no matter how large or small, you don’t deserve to see what’s to come.

There are only two people who ever owned me. The two seeds from whence I came. Tom and Peg own those seeds.




You can drive yourself now.

5 December 2021


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Published by Sharon Lee Davies-Tight, artist, writer/author, animal-free chef, activist

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