Monday, December 13, 2010

A Lesson in Farewells

there are many ways to depart
but one of the best
is by riding a rusty old bike
down the center median
of an empty road in the dead of night
under the arms of satsumas and oak
with a man's worn-in pair of shoes
poking out of the handlebar basket

most people will only see
the full moon and wriggling gas lights
a few less will see a darkened blur
and suspect you've come and gone
but a very special few will hear
your tinny, tiny bike bell chiming
with its single singsonging ching-ing

the fading drone note magic proof
that, yes, someone has been here
and very recently left


  1. Bicycle Kick me
    suspended in a swing on Sunday afternoon
    all I hear is "ring-ring, ring-ring"
    your brand new rusty old bike chimes my name
    and I'm gone

  2. unless you're also on a bike
    i'll plow you down like dead grass