pedaling down bell street

there were six of us, drunk

on bikes under streetlights

and moon, whooping at it,

me with my summer beard

and jaunty hobo hat, my 

friend hollering “walt whitman

on a bike, the good gray poet

rides again!” at those people

sitting on their porches and

me, misquoting the old bugger,

shouting into the night air,

“look at us! we take

to the streets! we’re happy!

we’re free! the world stretched

out before us!

Posted 3 months ago with 12 notes
Tags: my writing  rough draft