the shade of the trees at night on a bike

by Steven J. Serafiani

I piss in the sink, more
of a staggered piss as
a pint of whiskey burns
deeply- think,
what separates me

nothing.

the pint is never enough;
take a ten speed with a
rusted chain and faulty brakes out
of the empty garage. night cruise
for more. just a tallie I believe.
the wind is picking up as the
dead stars get covered slowly
by cloud dust and I cruise with
black tasseled loafers pedaling
towards freedom. pass suburbia
with a clip of hair fluttering.
take a right onto the main drag,
only a block more, the lights of the
twenty four gas station joining the
streetlight earth. up ramp and set
it down on brick. inside, pass a mexican man,
arms full of modelo especial, three or
four, couldn’t see behind the chips, I nod. our
existence clamoring for attention-
who are you and where did you come from?

nothing.

pay the sleep deprived costumed
counteress and out. the wind now not
cold nor hot but in between, letting
me know that it has no need for brakes.
I shoot down sidewalk now as headlights
pursue from opposite. I wobble, almost
clipping the edge where blades sink inches
on the side. laugh at how surly my loafers
have become and how envious I am for skidded
grass stain closeness. but I make it and
turn left on julie, past the garages
of before, the cluttered agony of before till
I hit blacktop new and empty. set down gears, quiet now and head in with brown paper bag. slink inside to aluminum tab foam and think about

nothing.

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