Fifteen
By: William Stafford
Fifteen
South of the Bridge on Seventeenth
I found back of the willows one summer
day a motorcycle with engine running
as it lay on its side, ticking over
slowly in the high grass. I was fifteen.
I admired all that pulsing gleam, the
shiny flanks, the demure headlights
fringed where it lay; I led it gently
to the road and stood with that
companion, ready and friendly. I was fifteen.
We could find the end of a road, meet
the sky on out Seventeenth. I thought about
hills, and patting the handle got back a
confident opinion. On the bridge we indulged
a forward feeling, a tremble. I was fifteen.
Thinking, back farther in the grass I found
the owner, just coming to, where he had flipped
over the rail. He had blood on his hand, was pale--
I helped him walk to his machine. He ran his hand
over it, called me a good man, roared away.
I stood there, fifteen.
South of the Bridge on Seventeenth
I found back of the willows one summer
day a motorcycle with engine running
as it lay on its side, ticking over
slowly in the high grass. I was fifteen.
I admired all that pulsing gleam, the
shiny flanks, the demure headlights
fringed where it lay; I led it gently
to the road and stood with that
companion, ready and friendly. I was fifteen.
We could find the end of a road, meet
the sky on out Seventeenth. I thought about
hills, and patting the handle got back a
confident opinion. On the bridge we indulged
a forward feeling, a tremble. I was fifteen.
Thinking, back farther in the grass I found
the owner, just coming to, where he had flipped
over the rail. He had blood on his hand, was pale--
I helped him walk to his machine. He ran his hand
over it, called me a good man, roared away.
I stood there, fifteen.
About the author: William Stafford
William Stafford (1914-1993) was raised in Kansas. He didnt publish his first book until he was forty six. He was the oldest of three children in a highly literate family. He had four kids with his wife Dorothy Frantz. Throughout his life he published about 65 volumes of poetry and books. He died of a heart attack in 1993, having written a poem that morning containing the lines "You dont have to/ prove anything,' my mother said. 'Just be ready/ for what Gods send."
What is the meaning of this poem?
This poem is about a young adolescent at the age of fifteen. When you're fifteen you are just beginning your life and you will have to go through with making decisions between temptation and whats "right." The adolescent has to choose between stealing the motorcycle or giving it back to its rightful owner. In the moments of his indecision, he returns the bike back to the owner and begins his life as an adult. Because of his decision this causes him to be a "good man" by doing the right thing.
Figurative Language
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