we had a thick
weathered green tarp
under which we
kept our bicycles
during the inclement
rainy springs and
long frozen winters
it was waterproof
so the dips and
valleys of fabric
filled with pools
and i would race my
little metal cars
down the tracks
suspended by the
handlebars and frames
of the forgotten bikes
recreating death defying
stunts as the plastic
wheels spun with a
gentle whining on the
spindly metal axles
no thought given to
deadlines or dead ends
happily splashing as
the heavy cars distorted
the hanging tarp that
was a mountainside track
only the bravest of
drivers dared face

now i sit with a view
of the highway watching
little metal cars play
slalom at high speeds
and i pretend to propel
them off the concrete
and into the untamed tracks
trapped twelve stories up
unable to feel that sense
of freedom from the road
shedding dead cells until
there isnt a trace of
that child playing outside
just a stranger aging
alone in this busy hive
unable to tell the difference
between honey bees and wasps
suffering a thousand vapid
stings in an anaphylactic
sense of paralyzed fear