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Missed Beat

Wednesday evening
as teenage suburbia sang
to the soundtrack of opportunity.
A chance to break out,
to climb the walls and escape.
I waited by a garden gate
for my friend to click its latch
and join me; all the time
hearing the muzak
of early summer play:
television voices, car engines
throbbing, ready to go,
twin notes of a doorbell,
calling, talking, singing birds
and my footsteps tapping,
heel toe,  heel toe, heel toe
then, discordant like the drone
of a plane flying a bit low
or a hurt child wailing.
A motorbike vroomed and rizzed
past. Too fast. The rider's hair
streamed behind him
like ribbons on a soaring kite.
His leather jacket had a picture
of an eagle on its back, his
jeans rippled slightly
around his legs. No helmet.
No constraint. He shot
up the hill and vanished
over the top.
One second to wonder
until the bang and all changed
in that moment. Nothing
except the booming in my ears,
the throbbing of blood. I swear
the sky turned the color
of pale mustard. Suburbia
took a sharp intake of breath
on a weeknight
as a life ended,
then it breathed out
as if trying to stay calm
and got on with it.

6 Dec 18

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fuck you
 — percocet

way to say a lot and nothing
 — percocet

I do like it tho
 — percocet

twin roades
 — percocet