I was on Twelfth North
walking Allie
looking at the tie-died sky
and thinking about how everyone
is so sure when it comes to politics
two guys passed me
riding their bikes to work
the first guy looks like he's
in the spring weather Tour de France
with a bright neon jacket
and the whole get-up
and even a contraption that
took business calls while pedaling
he smiled and nodded
and seemed like a really nice guy
the next guy was a Mexican
in construction cloths
with a cheap old bike
he also smiled and nodded
and seemed just as nice
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem