Tag Archive: bicycle

  2. Biketaur

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    Some girl said,

    “you really like your bike,

    don’t you?”

    Well, I suppose I do.

    Sometimes I wish I were a biketaur,

    a man with a bicycle instead of

    legs.

    I would be so fast.

    Stairs would be a challenge, but

    I wouldn’t have to lock me up

    to keep myself from being stolen

    because I would always be with me.

     

     

    I wish

    I could just take off.

    I want to ride and ride,

    down to the end of the well-treed street,

    out of the outskirts of town

    where the house paint peels

    and the dirt is seeded with candy bar wrappers,

    so far and so long that I

    would forget time is passing,

    somewhere on a Northwest road,

    rolling empty through tall fading grasses

    and intermittent groves.

    I wouldn’t even need legs —

    red muscles straight on the gears,

    a form made for gliding.

    I can’t decide

    if I want it to always be mid-afternoon

    or if it’s okay for the sun to set.

     

     

    I wonder,

    as a biketaur,

    if my torso would just meld into the frame,

    if I wouldn’t have a pelvis,

    in which case it would be easier

    not to think about you.

    On the other hand, maybe

    the ladies would be intrigued

    by my mechanatomical quirks.

    I would be the life of parties,

    and they would wonder about me

    like when men wonder,

    “how do mermaids have sex?”

    But either way,

    I would never have to ask for a ride.

     

     

    When I get to the end of the well-treed street,

    I turn around and go home.

    I lift my waist off my bike

    and U the lock

    around its beaten frame,

    chipped and glossy blue.