on the state route connecting
the shitty little towns
where all my loved ones live
I pump and pump the pedals of my baby blue
10 speed
towards the light
at the top of the hill
by day
I’m the only lefty on the team,
fat with good arms
so coach Larry puts me in for the king,
Mark Bing, who meets me after practice
dragging monkeys,
one of whom has a harelip and the last name, Yunk.
this is not an abdication
or a coronation but a declaration
of my fate should
I pretend to the mound
at night
I wear black to distract the eyes of the law
and old men
under porch lights
begging to be vandalized
as I work that bike uphill
behold! on my ass
the halogen lights
of a diesel downshifting,
grinding in for a kiss
i hold out my hand (as I am spoken for)
and go tumbling down a ravine
dotted
with bush hogged saplings.
one of which goes through my knee.
the only thing
I could think
before the knee dawned on me
was,
mom’s gonna fucking kill me
for riding after dark.
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