several miles from home
my bike's wheel locked so I
hoisted it
on my shoulder
and started back for my tools.
I carried the bike
against traffic
and the people watched
as the main character
carried
his bike, the bike
through
various neighborhoods
I carried the bike
against traffic
and the people watched
as the masculine
main character
carried
his bike, the bike
-a beautiful machine
perched on his shoulder
I carried the bike
against traffic
and the people watched
as the masculine
main character
with a mustache
carried
his bike, the bike
-What an angel-
a single mechanical wing
I graced around babies
mexican mothers
and the homeless
they looked at me honored to see
the main character
and with
what looked like
the bike
riding him.
I wondered what it was like for them
to be
supporting characters
extras
and to know that
where
I
was
headed
the story was
headed
too.
I crossed an intersection in the
black neighborhood
where I could see that
crimes were not
surprising
two white men in a car yelled
a little off script
hurrythefuckupgoddamnit
I replied with a lazy middle finger right on cue
and I pictured them
looping around the block
to fight ME
the mustached main character
carrying
his bike, the bike.
In a dance of desperation and staggering beauty
the bike would be tossed
to them
eyeing their throats
savagely
letting out feral cries
in excitement
Between jumps and bites I would stand centered as these two foes fell
their
pregnant
necks
bursting
with proud red ribbons unfurling
I would win and it made some
important
sense in believing this
But instead they never looped back so no fight
and an hour
later
the masculine main character
was home
drinking iced coffee
and having
a tough time
deciding between
reading a book
or
looking at porn
on the
computer.
