I saw a fat kid
on a bike
who had a nice smile
On a bike
I saw a fat kid
who had a nice smile
Who had a nice smile?
The fat kid
on a bike
Out on that bike: legs pumping, face flushed, delicious air running through passages cool into his lungs, and then through arteries and down to the cells, the mitochondria.
That smile of shy, unobserved delight, the glide like a P-51 through the neighborhood, going somewhere or nowhere
Sixteen and on a bike: a moment to be savored
What sort of asshole am I that I didn’t see the smile first?
Am I often given gifts and my focus finds the subpar wrapping paper?
Perhaps if I keep working at it, and if I’m lucky
In future I’ll see the poem first, before I have to write it