The man on the giant wheel, using his body to propel it down the street, pauses for two small girls to lie down in his path, narrowing their already small bodies to fit between the wheel’s two rims. Behind him the stilt walkers are growing restless. Finally, casually, silently, the great wheel runs the children over. They scramble to their feet and scatter while the monstrous legs forge forward. Unconsciously we all assess our own size, unsure, suddenly, whether or not we’re appropriate.


with no evidence
of my innocence
spring begins


(prose: here, now. haiku: Frogpond 37.1)

3 thoughts on “cycling

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