And Gleaming Everything
Lance Larsen
a pink bike with white basket and gleaming everything that’s the one I stole out of revenge for being kneed in gym by an eighth grader not his bike his sister’s bike that’s seventh grade logic for you
this was 1973 the same month my brother’s draft number came up I was riding fear not a bike moon covered in blood not a bike all dogs barking like Dobermans all parked cars manned by undercover cops
at the top of Sled Killer Hill I aimed that bike like a missile and let her go what bouncy balance what air a charging warhorse charging downhill tassels streaming I chased after it until it hit a tree
North Vietnam South Vietnam one of those was my enemy how did I not see the tree the bike banged up like someone tossed off a cliff do they have cliffs in Vietnam or only jungle I straightened the handlebars
bent the seat back into place tried to salvage the basket ah the basket a white wicker
number smashed a basket that had never carried beer or drugs or peace signs or Jimmy Hendrix LPs would the war turn my brother haywire
could anyone fix this basket would my brother return in a body bag how many burned draft cards can you fit in a basket how many blown off arms as you pedal to piano or the snow cone shack my prints all over everything
I stroked that basket like a dying stallion then slunk home on foot stars hounding me like in Hanoi wait where is Hanoi where is home past houses of lonely men watching TV who hadn’t touched their wives in months