one would be backstroking down Court Street,
apple in mouth, silver spandex riding up
to the crotch, a matte black helmet strapped
to the head. Some folks are sealed from the splash
of the day by cellophane wrap, which gets hot but
provides a certain gloomy protection from the chaos.
Lastly, let us not forget the caffeinated worm that churns
in the gut enough to provide an impulse for the poem.
I'd like to thank you for stopping by.