Changing A Bike Tire

Is it wrong to assume I can run
over a spiky rock?
A tire worth its rubber
should be able to take
that much abuse,
I would think.

Is it weird to think
that I can hit a dirt patch?
Maybe take a little off-road
detour without my bike tire giving up
and passing wind with a slow
unforgiving wheeze?

Can it sense my whining?
My sighs of dismay?
Does it like the walk home,
rolling slowly down the street?

My guess is it does, because here I am,
on the side of the road, with a backpack full of groceries
like a billion times before.

"I guess you shouldn't of been so adventurous,"
I say to myself,
yet my tire will pop the same way every time.

Costumed Panhandler

I met a costumed panhandler
that looked as innocent as sin,
and my friend tried to take a picture of me
as I was standing next to him.

But I could smell his ragged costume
almost like a urine sea
as I held my firm expression
reading, "get the fudge away from me."

He was Elmo,
he was Shrek,
he was a five foot Iron Man,
and he never let you take a picture with him
unless you put a dollar in his hand.

But mannnnnn,
he was the essence ipso facto,
of the city sprawled out nude,
he was the trip
with a hop and a skip,
on an island of attitude.

He encompassed my journey completly
that the four hour drive had bequeethed,
and as I gazed through this Elmo's mouth hole
he had to be missing at least eight of his teeth.

Highway Clean Up Crew

Such good folk,
these gentle giants
of orange, such good, good folk.

Equipped with giant utensils,
genial expressions,
and just the right amount of attitude,
I often see them
combing the road-side
ditches of my local highway.
 
What an environmentally-conscious bunch of rascals,
I'm calling it now,
these guys are sure to pop a cap in
our earths pollution problem.
They're practically
homicidal when it comes to how much they care.
I mean genuinely care.
 
They meticulously scrape every
blade of grass for McDonalds
wrappers and cigarette butts, 
leaving me speechless from
the confines of my mom's minivan.

 I almost want to shout out my window,
"Murderer! Murderer! You're a murderer of
old-world conventions that suggest the world
is invincible and incapable of decay!"
But I don't...

Meteor Showers, 4 A.M.

I'm cascading through the street,
it's 4:00 A.M,
and there is nothing to hear,
total silence.

The stars shine,
my eyes itch,
I'm sleepy but staring,
my hands clutching a
giant coffee mug.
 
I walk past a
recognizable house to my left,
rendered a shadowery blur
from the not-yet-present sun,
when not long after
I start to hear the hum
of the towns new hockey rink,
situated a cool mile down the road.

No cars pass me
during this early morning stride,
save a police officer,
who doesn't even stop
to say hello or even
question my presence.
I could be some sort of villian!
What was he thinking?

It could be quitting time for him, I guess.
Maybe, while I'm just headed to work
he's been up all night upholding justice!
The idea twinkles in my obnoxiously
caffeinated mind, distracting me
from my position in the ussually busy road.

Then, all at once,
three speckles of falling space rock
dart across the sky
leaving nothing but
the fading light of
meteors in my eyes.