On The Morning Ride
Saturday morning, after the rain
Early, grey, damp, cool, misty, refreshed
Our narrow bike tires
roll along the rain-darkened pavement
Spraying up fans of water drops
As they spin along at 15 miles an hour.
The roads are almost empty now
And we speed down hills and around curves
And into the country
Where the creeks are high and rushing
And the tall grass is bent over from the morning’s downpour
And at the slightest breeze, rain still drops from the forest leaves.
All is peace along this rural road
The houses, gardens and lawns all newly rinsed and clean
Until we hear a woman scream
And they walk around the corner of their home (I presume)
And into our view.
A man and a woman
Both ragged,
He is looking down into his open hand
And she, visibly distraught, unkempt for days
Runs after him, again screaming at the top of her lungs
“Robert. Give me my pills.”
Copyright 2015
Home Economics 
Seriously?
Oh, yeah. Every word of it. Andy was there. I’ve got a witness.
I feel bad for the couple, but I love the drama and unexpected turn of the poem.
Yeah. The thing that struck me was this misery amid the relative peace and beauty and – seemingly, at least – prosperity of the place. It was a nice house. And the other thing is, how pervasive the problem is, right here in River City. At bottom, I think, the problem is a spiritual and philosophical one. Other things enter into it, I know. Things the poor woman can’t control. But it was like riding through Mayberry and then coming into a scene from Cormac McCarthy.
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