Next to a Traffic Jam On a Hot Summer Day

Cars inch forward, a schoolyard is in view now. 
The manicured grass, is nourished by April rain,
Springtime sun, and night time warmth.
Power washed walkways cut neat lines through the green,
Parallel to the creeping traffic.
Crossing guards sit at interval,
By now bored and unused.

A man, like a lower class forty something factory worker
Then came down the white walkways
Now all but bare of little feet.
His ride is a red child’s bicycle.
He has never lived in our world.

The chain grease tinged hi cheap baggy jeans,
He hasn’t bothered to roll them up.
A plaid work shirt is pasted to his skin
His face gleams with the sweat of his jubilation.
His hair, tousled, hangs greasily
Two days growth covers his face.
His lips stretch, wider than can be comfortable
Bright uneven teeth. 
Above these: wet smiling eyes. 

Every fifteen feet he sends his torso heaving backwards;
Yanking on the handlebars he pulls the front tire from the ground.
His eyes, widen in violent joy and feverishly scan the path ahead.
His legs pump furiously
Holding it
As long as possible.
The tire comes back to earth
And he rolls on:
Dripping and mad and happy.

Tyler Jones
Contact: TRJ0015 (at) unt (dot) edu