Bike Rider

Ridin’ my bike down
some railroad track
my life saving
in an old back pack:
Book of poetry
bottle of rye
underneath
a clear blue sky,

Off to points
far far west
shorts and sandals
lightly dressed,
Old ball cap with
a tractor game
both of us have
the same first name,

She said “Dear John...”
it says John Deere
watching each other
in the bedroom mirror,
Both wearing a
Wednesday grimness
deciding if there was
energy in us,

For another round
another bout
another trip down
the same old route,
So, we flipped a coin
went different directions
we’d voted different
all recent elections,

So now I’m free
as a bird in flight
off to the left
she’s off to the right,
I’ll sleep content
under the stars
drink with the locals
in out-west bars …