Road Story
Mar 9 2010


The bike dull
the rider in black,
no light, reflector, caution.
Just after dusk, when it’s darkest.

I suppose smugness
makes you feel invulnerable —
the environmentally correct pedaller,
vs. me
in my hulking rusting guzzler.
A rolling stop
him, flashing across
dropping-down from nowhere,
as I stomp the brake
hard,
surprised as anyone.

That reptilian brain
— the one that snags a fly with a flick of the tongue
slithers into nothingness —
had taken over
from peripheral vision, to motor cortex
by-passing awareness;
the higher centres
that make us human.

He waved, speeding away,
saluting my power of attention
good driving.
Or maybe flipping me the bird
— too dark to tell.

Another inch forward
and our lives would have transformed
instantly
in ways I care not to think about.
So now, I inhabit
the rarefied “after”.
In which real life
is flashing lights, police tape,
while I get to live-out the fantasy —
pulling away, heart beating faster
into accustomed humdrum existence.

Except for the giddy freedom
I feel,
now, thinking back.
The fork in the road, the erratic path
zigzagging-away
behind us.