qarrtsiluni

There was no way to determine
the criticality of the mass
of happy, hooting cyclists
kinetic on the downtown street
on the last Friday of April,
but one guy at the corner
who had waited too long
in his silver suit
to cross that street
felt compelled
to flip them all the bird,
as though the chain reaction
they were creating
would reach him
eventually—
the fallout of two-wheelers
an affront to his muscle
car life.

Meanwhile, and in contrast,
the line of customers waiting
at the Japa-Dog stand on the corner
was growing exponentially—
it was, for the moment,
a new equilibrium.

by Alan Girling

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