Bike By Kayla Hall

A paved patch sits in the center, bikes line
the outer edges to the right and left.
Like a blanket of stone next to green shrubs.
It was all so green, bushes, trees, newsstand.
Little shacks for the school paper dotted,
like houses in the game Monopoly.
Something vibrant an obnoxious yellow
thing was crumpled inside the bikes basket,
I never did get close enough to see.

I turned to my right as a girl passed by
the heat too much for her, so she removed
her shirt and adjusted her white head phones.
I got it, I was just sitting under
a tree and I could feel sweat starting to
pool together. A fire hydrant glowing,
the felling of the water spilling out
from a distance. A simple fantasy
on a sweltering lazy afternoon.

A man passed by, he already took off
his jacket holding it in his right hand
the other was frantically swinging.
As if moving your arm so quick gives some
sort of super power to move lightning
quick. More people came but I ignored them.

I thought of my bike, locked and left untouched.
I never used it, I don't want to be
that kid who gets pulled over on a bike.
I laugh at them, and the poor cop who has
nothing better to do then pull over
kids trying to make it to class on time.