I pretend I don’t see you
and then look away
my eyes focused on my
forward movement
lest I slip off the shoulder
and crash into the water
pedals on concrete race
against sails on water
each attacking the wind
in our own special way
one eye in the rearview
and one at a finish line
that may
or may not be there
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
We’d buy smokes and tall boys
and fill up the ’69 Tempest
at the Mobile station uphill
from where the Mississippi
runs East and West
Once underneath I-74
we’d hang a right onto Riverside Drive
wind our way towards East Village
The late August sunrays
reflected a lifeline
off the murky wakes and white sails
latching its horizontal eyes
onto the Pontiac
lasering its rims as it speeds
towards Davenport’s ones
september two thousand ten
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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