are really about death
a friend tells me
but I am newly betrothed
& believe this marriage dream
is really about my impending
wedding—not dying: the pair
of us riding a high-wheeled bicycle
a penny farthing he pedaled
& I seated atop the throne
of his shoulders (quite appropriate for the circus
of our courtship)
shouted I’ll die if we fall
Then keep me close he replied
now I know why this machine was dubbed
boneshaker
down uneven streets we wobbled
trying hard to avoid children
or crashing into predictable old
ladies laden with baskets of groceries
& complaining about bills
all the while we kept on cycling
swerving down cobblestone lanes narrowly
escaping disastrous collapses
all the while my love pedaling
steering us & balancing the weight
of me on his shoulders as I pointed onwards
the way west
glee of two wheels
whose spinning momentum
swept us forward with no particular destination
just the sheer To hell with the world! joy
of cycling together into that supreme
slow-dying sun as it slipped
westward into the evening water
how we rode with no hands in our own
private parade of years