in the strange city,
on a wooded park trail,
I saw her,
riding a bicycle
as ancient as the steel mill
that cast its frame,
she stopped, in front of me
with an eternal screech
in her regalia of rags
her taped glasses riding lopsided on a curious nose
she stared at me through one filmy cracked lens
her window to this cracked world
one that forgot her two wheeled journey long ago
“hot! it’s hot” she said
“hot, hot as Hades, but there may come a blizzard,
yes sir, may come a blizzard”
she circled me, like I was prey, broken lens fixed on me
where I saw my reflection, briefly,
as if on shallow water, wavy and timid
closer
her ammonia bouquet eerily appealing
she laid hands on me, bony hands,
with veins as purple as plums
“yep, you think you’re smart”
her claws digging into my arm,
her magnified eyes still on me
I looked away, but her stare stuck
I knew she was
still with me
alone,
dancing to some solitary song I had heard long ago
but managed to forget, until
in this strange city in the park
where I sought peace from the chugging fumes of the cars,
the square shadows on the baked asphalt,
and the half truths spit from my own tongue
she caught me
refused to allow me the spell I was under
yet she cast another, one that any mortal may reveal
under the celebrated sun
a final one, I did not choose to hear
from a bicycle lady peddling sweaty truth
before an ice storm in July