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.