The Main Drag

In this scene, we were riding our bikes toward the sunset at the end

of the road. We rushed through plumeria trees and power lines.

The asphalt was a bit of trouble, we couldn't go very fast. You wanted

to race and feel the wind course through your body. The sparrows perched

on branches reaching wires where kites were caught. They flew away

as soon as we passed the shade. Here was the summer I learned

to follow without being forced, passing the neighbor’s farm,

leaking water pipes, yesterday’s garbage, riding down a blind curve.

It was a rough turn, but you wouldn't wait for anyone. We wanted

to know what was at the end. Later you’d find me back at the curb,

my knees skinned raw from the fall. Night came and we left our bikes

to walk home. Convincing ourselves it wasn’t anyone’s fault, our visits

together became less, until we made none at all—I looked for you

to ask if there was anything back there, but that was long ago.

Today, I stumbled upon the same path, more power lines, lights,

a solid road. I’ve walked streets and boulevards in different cities,

though I still catch myself racing, reaching for something to end.