on my faithful steed
that answers to the name of trigger
i cowboy up pleasant street at a gallop
the green & cream columbia 1-speed
on one of those early-spring late afternoons
the temperature sundowning
south of freezing
the icy wind chill feathering my hair
my bare knuckles & ears white
with impending frostbite
& my spring jacket snapping
unzipped like a vest in the breeze
(you never see roy rogers riding
all buttoned up to the neck in three layers
or wearing mittens for his mom)
to whoa-up under the low naked limbs
of the playground maples
inching to a dead stop
feet still on the pedals
upright… balanced…
(trick rider that i am)
easy, fella
& slowly… eversoslightly
cranking myself uprightward & standing
poised precariously in the stirrups
the rodeo crowd applauding as one!
reaching up to pluck
the first of the finger fruit
a long, sap-sweetened icicle
flecked with bits of black bark
& clamp it in my teeth
like a longbranch cheroot
my tongue delighting itself
over the maple-swishersweet surface…
me
a big forerunner of
the marlboro man
NEARING THE END OF THE LINE 