pedaling whether
Poetry by don farrell
cool canadian air comes down
wiping snot from minnesota’s wet hair.
cumulus clouds bask in warm rays
above, blown by cooler breezes below.
i watch a boy ride his ten-speed
up a hill, i have to wonder,
was he raped. would he climb the fence
on dupont bridge and jump
to the wheels and windshields.
is he stoned…stoned
enough.
does his heart swell
into a head
big as a hippo’s
bulging against his soft pink
lungs so breathless, the shame
he chokes like barfing desert sand
and heat like barfing up the sun onto
the sidewalk along the fence of a bridge
at his feet…someone’s dirty, sticky
stepped-in gum.
wiping snot from minnesota’s wet hair.
cumulus clouds bask in warm rays
above, blown by cooler breezes below.
i watch a boy ride his ten-speed
up a hill, i have to wonder,
was he raped. would he climb the fence
on dupont bridge and jump
to the wheels and windshields.
is he stoned…stoned
enough.
does his heart swell
into a head
big as a hippo’s
bulging against his soft pink
lungs so breathless, the shame
he chokes like barfing desert sand
and heat like barfing up the sun onto
the sidewalk along the fence of a bridge
at his feet…someone’s dirty, sticky
stepped-in gum.
Don Farrell lives in Cambridge, MN with 3 sons, 2 dogs and other critters where land transitions from forest to prairie. He writes daily, obsessively. He holds a monthly open mic at The ARC Retreat Center in Stanchfield, MN and a bi-weekly zoom poetry critique group. He has poems in Bodega Magazine, Thimble Literary Magazine, and New Square of Sancho Panza Poetry. He hopes to leave this planet without getting what he deserves.
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