"le tour tourist"

...tis a day for bad poetry, i think.


"le tour tourist" to the blue schwinn in the basement

and here is the tunnel where pigeons come to die.
it smells damp and earthy, like suffering and mold.
i once thought i saw a large skull in the underpass,
but soon realized that it was nothing more than a rock;
mammals are too proud to die in such a pathetic place. it takes
all of ten seconds to ride through this spot on rick's abandoned bike,
five if i am going fast,
and three point seven if i am mad.

today i played a silent, angry game.
let's see how fast you can go and how hard you can pedal.
let's see how how much of yr weight this old metal frame can take,
and how much it can give back.
let's see if, if maybe you can work your thighs and
clench yr calves enough to escape the nervous feeling in yr stomach
and the taste of salt in the air from the river and
the smell of dirt and feathers under this tunnel.