Independence Day

Independence Day

Mourning, morning,
sleeping, now waking,
gaping, aching, naked,
dreamt I found you
in the night,
fell into your heart,
and left my poetry there
before I left to start the day.

Chilly July 4th,
55 degrees greets me,
pulling on cut-offs,
frayed at the edges,
tennis shoes, no socks,
ripping the worn quilt
from the bottom of the bed,
yet another, independence day.

Blanket and a 6-pack,
bungied to the bike rack,
alone again, naturally,
I plunk my worn seat
on the curb in town,
watching the pagan fleet,
tattered veterans, rusting heaps,
clowns throwing suckers.

This independent day,
I wished to wake with you,
cold summer morning,
loud any day morning,
warm morning,
trash day morning,
holiday or mundane Monday,
with or without storm warnings.

But night comes calling,
my ass is back on the quilt,
fireworks everywhere,
and my friend’s husband
tries to play footsie
while his wife and child
watch the sky
and I die inside.

Before the finale,
I rise and roll the bed
I’ve been lying in,
right my bike,
and wheel it through
a crowd to which I feel
I do not belong,
this independence day.

..this one came from somewhere, far off, that's for sure. some notes and bits, scrapped from something i intended to write. mostly, i think it's about my bike. there were a lot of years, when i was very emotionally and spiritually attached to my bike. it got me in, around, under and through a lot of bull crap-ed-ness, that’s for sure. ....

"biking in the moonlight," print by alfred gockel (allposters.com) ... and i'm telling you, there is nothing, absolutely nothing close to biking in the moonlight!