Bicycling


Warehouse malaise offset by versions of me
trudging home in heavy boots
eight hours on the brow...
on ya bike son!

Less a burden with distance however
middle aged, slouched in twilight
sunshine flashing the coming days

We reach for the door together
and a young girl waves in jest
and smiles, forgetting herself
here she says is what’s beautiful

He might have missed it though
with thick root cracks in the pavement
so i'll jump and wave, by giving way
and humbly let him through

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