Neighborhood Bike Girl

God, I heard, got on with it.
I stood watch, by His outbuildings
where birds gathered round
and bobbed and rubbed the pads
beneath their claws as long as grubs
near the hot ground. A bird, I said,
drummed its fingers on the ground.
Let’s zoom in.

Micro-motes volley between ground
and bird, alerting everyone
to the traffic of our big scene.
Where daddy is swiveling, cutting a divot
into the dirt. I pivot on my seat,
alert. His sudden shriek:
goals are getting done!
His eyes are dancing powerfully.
The pigeon senses something is amiss.
If his whole head were an eye,
it’d still be blinking rapidly.
And ants drag, the plot drags on.

“You try to train and keep stuff up”,
she says, turning her pedal back
a quarter-counter-clock.
I deflect and turn to you, my sweet,
my mute, who are spitting on a pile of
pure white chalk.