I stole it in June.
I rode it all up and down the streets.
I rode it to the top of
Sweaty and breathing hard.
From there I watched the sun set
Catching on the gold dome of Town Hall.
So I suppose I stole that too.
And the fantasies of men
Carrying tax roles down the halls,
Stole the chuckle at seeing tyranny
Of order made so small.
He lay awake all night
So pleasantly tortured
Knowing she was coasting
Down into the world again,
Hollering and trusting momentum
To keep her upright as she spread
Her arms like wings.
It was like she’d grown
Into the shinny redness of the bike
Like they were roaring soaring singing
Hearts with wings.
He lay awake thinking how it felt
To race through streets,
to fly through streets, to sweat
and sing, balanced on a stolen thing.
When I lay down beside him to recount
The stolen things, I saw suddenly
he already knew and I was irritated he hadn't told me
how the thing had to be kept in motion,
how all that hard red delicate metal
needed the street to fly but more than that
I wondered why he'd let me take it,
such a miraculous thing,
knowing afterwards, one's never quite the same.
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