Saturday Morning (She Flew)

This is a true story. Cross-posted on my Tumblr.


The clouds were burn­ing,
That was likely the reason
She flew
like that
like a bird
into the cars.
The clouds were burn­ing
And the road was dron­ing with
The six o’clock shuffle,
A jig of metal bod­ies across the
Dusk-coloured tarmac.

 

The clouds were burn­ing
And her boy­friend was rid­ing after her
Like a train along the bike path
Scream­ing
Rhi­an­non
Stop
Jesus stop Rhi­an­non
But she did not hear or
Did not want to hear
And flew
like that
like a bird
hair boun­cing in her own wind
grin a full moon
into the cars.

 

She was ped­dal­ing faster and faster
Her bike was chew­ing up its chain
Like it was the last thing it would do
Like it could prove it was more than a bike
Like she could prove she was more
She lif­ted her hands off the handle­bars
And flew
like that
like a bird
(like she could lift her­self off the hard earth)
into the cars.

 

Brake lights flashed red behind her
As the traffic waltz
Came to a clumsy halt
In the middle of the road
Where it had never come to a halt before
Where the tar­mac had only felt the
Hard bite of tyres and now
Buckled a little
Not so any­body would notice
Or care
But later, they said,
When it was all said and done
And she had ped­alled onto the median strip
And her boy­friend had slammed into her
Shout­ing
Rhi­an­non
Jesus Rhi­an­non
What
What the fuck
They said,
The cars in their sud­den pause
Had made new potholes
Where no potholes had been before
And the rain pooled in them some­times
And reflec­ted the sun
And the clouds
When they were burning.

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