yer old bike

it was one of those nights when we really had to concentrate on getting home. even though you lived in allston for a few years at this point, each street corner, littered with dark glass and dead leaves, looked the same. red bricks stacked in banal, yet strong skeletons and a concrete passage way that cuts through the precise city plan restricts us to unfamiliar sidewalks. but i just moved here, how could i be expected to recognize this so quickly?
the day before we rode our bikes in the summer-like october weather to the grassy yard that held up the statehouse. we sat, took pictures, and ate lunch. cambridge finally started to look beautiful to me, like an older man or woman. the bikes that we swerved in and out of traffic with now stand separately; mine locked comfortably on our front porch and yours is being pushed through the clumsy, wet night.
we eventually find the overpass that hung above the mass pike; leaving lower allston, heading home. you grew tired of pushing your rusty old bike and decided to lock it up to a street sign outside of a friends apartment. the funny thing is this wasn't even your bike, it was your friend's, she let you borrow it. you had it for so long, it just felt like your own and it was easy to take for granted, especially when you knew you were getting a new one in the mail the upcoming week. so you left it there. the cold metal frame stands lonely under an irritating orange glow cast from a streetlight. like in the spotlight, ashamed of the attention. we stumble on, and get home.

cut-outs

lost luggage

i've driven a handful of my friends to the columbus airport since moving here. some of them are gone for a week, some are gone longer, but for that amount of time, i'm the last familar face they see.
the ride to the airport is always short. small talk fills the car like the warm, stuffy air from the dated heater. i ask how long they'll be gone for even though i already know the answer. the roads are wet from the melting snow and they loop around each other like thorn covered branches on a jaggerbush. a cop car peers out from behind the median with his radar gun pointed at me as if i was a criminal. he sits there as more of a threat than an aid. we pass. different colored flags blowing strong in the late winter wind tells us that the day is strong. we slow down and eventually stop. hug. and i leave them with just their luggage. the trip up until this point is short. when i get back on the highway though, i'm lost. i change directions and forget everything. i follow signs. i'm convinced i took a wrong turn until i come out from under an overpass and see the skyline peeking over oppsing traffic. i'm identified with that skyline now. after noticing the fourth st exit, i take it and gawk at the wonder bread sign perched upon an old brick building. i know my way home from here.
later while i'm on the playground at work i hear a helicopter cutting threw the sky; fast and loud. everyone looks up for that moment, wondering who could be in there. i find myself now wondering how they got there. my attention is quickly diverted by a kid on the moneybars yelling across the schoolyard to his friend that he'll see him tomorrow.