Riding II

    I had to learn as I rode
    Back and forth on
    The 405 never to let
    My thoughts interfere
    With my riding.  Those
    Who did not ride this
    Way soon gave it up.

    Close-calls were common
    When a mind is allowed
    To wander.  Mine never did.
    For years I rode never thinking
    Of anything but the road
    Until I got home and put
    My bike away.  Susan was

    There then, drifting in and
    Out between the lanes.  She’d
    Wake with a start as I set a
    Tray of food on her lap.  She
    Smiled her thanks
    But smiles no longer,
    And I no longer ride.

Riding I

  

    The roses always bloomed
    For her, but not for me --
    But I still feel an obligation
    To Try.  They ration water
    Here and it seldom rains.
    I encountered an Indian
    In the dry river bed

    Who asked for a drink
    And I gave him one.
    He went on ahead 
    With confidence after
    Having said he was
    Never here.  I am
    Here – at least for now.

    I dreamed of office debates
    And conflicts all of which
    Demanded my involvement.
    I dreamed I went outside in
    The rain and covered my bike.
    Later I rode home with
    It stinging my eyes.

Her Hand

    I tried to hold her hand
    A little longer, gripping
    It as firmly as I could;
    Never willingly letting
    It go, and its going
    Was in one sense only.
    I have it still whenever

    I sleep, whenever my mind
    Drifts it is there.  Lights
    Flicker and I’m never sure
    Where I should be.  Other
    People are self-concerned,
    Passing, looking neither
    Right nor left.  Susan

    Unlike them is always near,
    Here some place, saying
    Things she said before --
    The normality I’m left with.
    We never discuss this
    Arrangement.  I simply
    Assumed there would be one.

The Big One

    Not everyone would see the flash
    Or feel the heat of the explosion.
    Night would be the most
    Spectacular time, signs exploding
    One by one.  Sitting at a corner
    With Duffy sleeping, Jessica
    Peering through the windshield

    Watching the cloud forming.
    I had seen it in newsreels,
    Backed into an alley
    And turned around.  I was
    Unclear about surviving
    Which in Cold-War days no
    One was supposed to, but

    Many survived Nagasaki
    And Hiroshima.  It could be
    Done, and we were not near a
    Likely target.  Duffy climbed
    Into my lap.  Jessica continued
    To stare with unflinching gaze
    Through the window.  Ben slept.

Riding Alone

   

    You imagine what it is like,
    Riding the wind as much as the road,
    A sprinkling rain dappling your visor.
    You are enclosed, cut off,
    Feeling you knew you would be
    If you kept on thinking
    As you did.  You

    Must be brought
    To heal or be ostracized,
    The traditional means of being
    Cut off from the tribe.
    You were not meant to ride
    Alone and surely know
    That through your DNA.

    Riding alone you’ll one day
    Find yourself under a truck
    On the 405.  There is no
    Place, we’ve seen through
    Our lenses, for a being
    Like you – though as old
    As you are it no longer matters.

Straggling on the Beach

    Stragglers on the beach –
    Seaweed the next tide
    Will drag back out.
    The band has come
    And gone – the prizes
    Given.  Those still
    Here have nothing won.

    Undone as we are,
    Shirts and shoes
    Bereft, eyes grit red
    That barely see the
    Passing of gulls, the
    Raucous tribe that
    Battles for the little

    Left.  Here and there
    Sand crabs creep
    Out to look and then
    Slip back. Nothing
    Remains but the crawling
    Over to pass Beyond.  I’ve
    Passed beyond now many times.

On Getting Down

    Catching myself dreaming I can
    At least credit those fanciful
    Scenes for the leaden moods
    Of my mornings – but absent
    Recollections, the heavy world
    Is like scraps of paper
    Jessica leaves strewn

    On my study floor.  I grope
    About for whatever’s
    There, raise my head and
    With faulty ears listen
    For something in the trees
    Outside – birds perhaps
    Or just the wind ending

    This unsuccessful introspection.
    I lift some weights, dash
    About the house doing
    Chores, see outside that
    The heavy clouds have yet to
    Lift.  Without meaning to
    I feel better in an hour or two.