night biking

there's a light under my butt cheeks. it flickers. it keeps me safe. it was only $9.99. i'll take cost effective safety any day. i'm not supposed to listen to music while i ride, especially not while i ride alongside new york's cabbies, rickshaw riders, and tourists and their trinkets. trinkets with tourists, tourists with trinkets, tourists in trinkets with other tourists in other trinkets, you get the idea. but see, what upsets me most is that central park horsies never get to see what they really want to see. blinkers are for a.d.d kids of the new generation, of the ipod ipad isat ifed iget generation. not for old souls with large wet noses. so yes, despite scoldings from beloved(s), i listen to music while i ride. through a single headphone. this spring, along with my allergies came gillian welch. both in one smooth perfect circle. now i am listening to her. and yes, i want to sing that rock and roll. yes, i want to 'lectrify my soul. cause everybody been making a shout. so big and loud. been drowning me out. and i want to sing that rock and roll.
sometimes music makes me think of you.
but biking doesn't. night biking makes me think of nobody. it's just the evening wind and me. the orange yellow streetlights illuminating a path home. eventually the cabbies, other riders, tourists, trinkets and even horsies disappear. i take the 8th avenue up from the village. and the further north i go, the quieter it becomes. at 59th, it's silent. central park sleeps on my right. i watch for flying doors that may open up in front of me, as i zip past parked cars. but nothing opens. when i hit 110th, the streets are littered with wrappers, crushed cans, styrofoam, and i feel like i'm back in kathmandu. atomic wings is still open and harlemites are out shouting their "hey"s! as i turn around to my street, 120th, between 8th and 7th, i meet ike. ike the seasonal construction worker who offers free hugs and brandy. and he screams at me, "whatchu doin' lookin' like a bum in haaarlem?"
that's love.