Bike ride

Under the El train
stereos pound
out from open doors
mattress shops and
pawnbrokers with big
commercial red lettering

Women push shopping carts,
slowly lurch toward
the heat of spring has died
down into wind which

rallies assortments of
bags into the air
and flaps shop signs
to and fro
(Madame Zenda Sees All)

We ride by, people
streaming in glimpses,
on their phones or
smoking or watching
with listless eyes

pavement that crumples
and pools from leaking platforms,
from the faded blue metal
that arches above
like a heartline
over Kensington

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