Cannonball Bicycle Messenger, Chicago

In this town you can’t get lost.
When I cross the street against the light,
when I jump a twelve-inch curb, or tag
along on a truck’s rear bumper,
there’s a hidden plan bouncing along below me.
Yes, the streets yield, slide themselves under my wheels.
State rolls out my red carpet to the Loop.

But yeah, I see reality as it really is.
The split-second turn will save me.
That lady getting out of her Impala
swings her door open
as if I could pass through her life like a ghost.

This poem has yet to be published.