October 2009
1 post
Shoes hurt my feet, stomach full of
dry flat bread; whatever.
Ever see a man, a grown man,
crammed onto the seat of a red and shining child’s bicycle?
Past private drives, blue bottle-filled bins, he coasts,
an agony of tangled limbs angling outwards.
And when about to stop, once more
he stands to set the pedals pumping,
fifty feet, a hundred, more.
Kilometers away, alone,
I walk...