bicyclistman hit by cab
every day
i ride down broadway to the soaring heights of the broadway bridge
watching the slats of the sidewalk construction flash on-off-on-off under my knobby front tire
the bridge is being renovated
traffic's all fucked up and so
the bicyclist and peds face each other on the one side open [twoway into one]
and peds, bikers, and whomever else must contend with that bitch [eye contact]
i ring my "i love my bike" bell and bonzai across | clown meets bike messenger + commuter
sometimes i am mesmerized by the beauty and rhythm of the grating and the trucks passing over it, the whirr of the trimet beasts
other times I race against time to not be late [again] for work
it's beautifully finished, this portland of ours
once, I ignored the construction cordons when the bridge was closed to traffic and went anyway
the bridge no longer hummed like a plucked instrument
and i experienced the city as if my ears were plugged with scratchy cotton balls
i stopped in the middle of the span, after listening to the sounds of my own bike, so rarely heard solo, and watched the next bridge over, with the light-rails and the buses (which seemed so miniscule)
it was beautiful
there are apartments facing the edge of the sidewalk and sometimes i look over to the pier-side pool or the terraces and ring my bell incessantly until someone makes eye contact
i make personal interaction a fact of life instead of something to be feared
and now the people in the apartments wave back sometimes
[just sometimes]
because of the construction, bikes which would normally be going with traffic go against it until they dart across the road or wait feebly for the crosswalk (too slow for the beautiful momentum of a Cannondale or Diamond Back)
one waited too long today
and so as i rode home
my path was blocked with three squad cars, an ambulance, and a firetruck
a broadway cab-van had crunched a single-speed under its front bumper
and a young guy, no more than 20, was splayed on the street
dressed in black, matching his bike, he could've been dead-he matched the pavement
the police were milling around
and i think he was alive, and that they were guarding him
like blue-lapeled angels unused and futile
i stopped my bike and could do nothing else but honor him by praying
i still cannot cry
but i could pray
:: please let him be okay :: be okay :: save him :: please please please please :: i could know him :: it could've-should've-been me :: save him please :: be okay be okay :: please let him be okay
let me take his pain
and swallow it
let me be brave for him
let me shed his tears
i will take it
it's been quite some time since I prayed so involuntarily
but what else could be done?
i ride down broadway to the soaring heights of the broadway bridge
watching the slats of the sidewalk construction flash on-off-on-off under my knobby front tire
the bridge is being renovated
traffic's all fucked up and so
the bicyclist and peds face each other on the one side open [twoway into one]
and peds, bikers, and whomever else must contend with that bitch [eye contact]
i ring my "i love my bike" bell and bonzai across | clown meets bike messenger + commuter
sometimes i am mesmerized by the beauty and rhythm of the grating and the trucks passing over it, the whirr of the trimet beasts
other times I race against time to not be late [again] for work
it's beautifully finished, this portland of ours
once, I ignored the construction cordons when the bridge was closed to traffic and went anyway
the bridge no longer hummed like a plucked instrument
and i experienced the city as if my ears were plugged with scratchy cotton balls
i stopped in the middle of the span, after listening to the sounds of my own bike, so rarely heard solo, and watched the next bridge over, with the light-rails and the buses (which seemed so miniscule)
it was beautiful
there are apartments facing the edge of the sidewalk and sometimes i look over to the pier-side pool or the terraces and ring my bell incessantly until someone makes eye contact
i make personal interaction a fact of life instead of something to be feared
and now the people in the apartments wave back sometimes
[just sometimes]
because of the construction, bikes which would normally be going with traffic go against it until they dart across the road or wait feebly for the crosswalk (too slow for the beautiful momentum of a Cannondale or Diamond Back)
one waited too long today
and so as i rode home
my path was blocked with three squad cars, an ambulance, and a firetruck
a broadway cab-van had crunched a single-speed under its front bumper
and a young guy, no more than 20, was splayed on the street
dressed in black, matching his bike, he could've been dead-he matched the pavement
the police were milling around
and i think he was alive, and that they were guarding him
like blue-lapeled angels unused and futile
i stopped my bike and could do nothing else but honor him by praying
i still cannot cry
but i could pray
:: please let him be okay :: be okay :: save him :: please please please please :: i could know him :: it could've-should've-been me :: save him please :: be okay be okay :: please let him be okay
let me take his pain
and swallow it
let me be brave for him
let me shed his tears
i will take it
it's been quite some time since I prayed so involuntarily
but what else could be done?