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
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.”