He looked up – I thought to the sky,
but he was watching traffic signals,
and then he was watching right to left,
up the street and then turning around,
was he trying to cheat something, then
the car horn and it wasn’t at him, dissipating
as the UPS driver was in the back of his truck,
bending at the waist, and he cranked his
neck and looked up: he wasn’t scared;
he was pissed, the UPS driver was, and
I wondered how she could peddle that
stationary bicycle so heavily in the empty
fish bowl, while people went by, I can’t
imagine not being enchanted with her
fierce depth of beauty, peddling, peddling,
and I felt as though I have never not
peddled, always toward empty sewer
pipes that swallow me and remind me
that I don’t know where I am or where
I’ve been, but I suppose I am a fish, and
the UPS driver is a fish, but no pipe will
swallow him and the man in the crosswalk
got clobbered by the Toyota and the deep
lady in the fishbowl was peddling and
will never, ever stop.