Wednesday, August 2, 2017

What I See

I ride, a steady A pace,
of eighteen to twenty miles per hour
serene in the early morning
absence of traffic,
considering the tasks and pleasures
the day ahead will bring
the projects I’ll work on
once the endorphins kick in
clearing the week’s debris from my brain
the spectrum of stress and
Too many demands
Too many shut doors
Too many lost in space requests.

I see things, details that only a red light allows
but on a bicycle, the constant head swivel
ensuring safety
lets me see things a
two ton fiberglass shell hides.
I wonder why, who, leaves these markers
relics of Some Life, lost or abandoned,
Some Life changed in some way
from what was yesterday.

I see things. And stop.
A bicycle can stop anywhere.
Pull over onto median, shoulder, curb,
stop and reflect
at the growing crop
of roadside memorials
crosses and stakes, draped with ribbons,
dried flowers, stuffed bears, empty beer cans.
They spring up like daisies
victims of DUIs and drive-bys.

Every day I see new ones
replacing the abandoned, windwrecked
tides of only I remember what was there before.

Spreading, popping up, they send out shooters
and increase exponentially.

I stop, bewildered, by the creek,
water level a fraction of a few weeks ago
when the hurricane rainy season
had water lapping the trail.
Now, matted grass edges the creek bed revealing
an old child’s carseat,
and perhaps fifty feet on,
A stroller. On the bank, a matted blanket.
Where is the child that held these?
Is he safe? Is she hungry?

I see things I can do nothing about and ride on.

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