Bicycle by Terry Bain


April Fifteenth

Turning right, and I heard him braking 
somewhere to my rear, breaking the lane 
that is not a lane, from spaces reserved 
for parking, a cyclist curbing up before 
careening into the passenger door of my 
elderly minivan, unsuccessfully stopped.

He waved to me, rising, acknowledging 
his uninjury.

Stopping, getting out, I tried to flag him 
down, to make sure he was not riding off 
concussed (yes he was wearing a helmet), 
but he moved away too quickly, directly away
from our collision, as if in flight.

It hardly matters. I’ll take this on myself,
thank you.

Had he dropped from the sky, landed 
on my roof, and fallen into traffic, I would 
claim my turn ill-considered, and blame my 
own ignorance and blind spot, usually reserved 
for confrontation, malevolence, and detail.

All I am trying to say is this: I should 
have known to check the sky for falling
bicycles. I resolve to fail better tomorrow.

Terry Bain is the author of You Are a Dog and We Are the Cat ‡ TwitterInstagramLetterboxdTinyLetter
Copyright 2019 Terry Bain