Interstate Bike Trip

All we had was One Trash Bag, and One Trash Bag

to hold all of your gear on a 10-day bike trip isn't that much.

We had One Trash Bag.

One trash bag for each of our sleeping bags,

which both fit inside one trash bag as if they were

meant to be stored there, as if they were meant to be stored in a trash bag.

We also carried our two rolls of toilet paper

in that same trash bag, as more comical support than anything else.

I mean, we weren’t stopping for anything.

But it didn't matter because we had one trash bag.

One glad, force flex trash bag while we traveled into the enigmatic

portions of Western Mass foot over pedal, over foot, over pedal.

We crossed into jerkwater towns, passed through a whole city of chairs,

and halfway through the day made a pit stop at an isolated chapel, on top of hill, that we figured

consisted of one gigantic insestual family. I'm sorry if your from Templeton, MA.

But we had only One Trash Bag, and that was enough

to keep our hope inside, all smooshed up against some stale Cheetos.

We proved that One Trash Bag could hold a lot more than face value

and we used the same Trash Bag to hold everything:

all of our stupid jokes,

all of our pictures,

and all the countless strange memories

that we only speak of to each other.

Yeah, we only brought

One Trash Bag strapped to the same

bike-rack that our vagrant mindsets

were, and in the end our trash bag evolved.

Not only did it hold our possessions

but our trash bag became them,

like water in an glass molding

to the shape of it's container.

It became our hope

it became our comical support

it may have became our Toilet paper at one point,

and it even became our sleeping bag

as we fell asleep inside it; our one trash bag,

on the first day of our journey,

ass-to-ass,

while the hurricane of

the century bore down outside.

1st Impressions And Cocoa Puffs

Snap judgments form

with a “Snap, Crackle, Pop! Rice Krispies!”

I mean just look at that guy!

There's something wrong with that guy.

Or how about that old widow, grieving, she is so forlorn!

I just know it.

What about that insurance salesmen feeding the birds?

Total ass-hole, right?

I know that's what I was thinking!

I mean you can look at anyone

and form an opinion.

Look at me instead!

Boat shoes, head-bands,

belt buckles, and plaid shirts?

I realize I must

exude some strange affiliation

with gang violence.

But I'm not all guns and I'm not all roses-

even though I appreciate the distinct smells that each provide.

A broad-rimmed hat on top of a rice paddy

worker usually indicates

an occupation in rice production,

but really examine this guy and you'll find

he's an outrageous individual.

He has a wife, two babies, and a penguin

who's learned how to fetch his family fish,

and that's pretty cool.

I wish I could be that cool.

 

Listen To The World

I feel like the world is trying tell you something

when you're driving in a car really really fast.

Something like:

“Why don't you enter yourself in a board game tournament."

"You're gonna win.”

Something like that.

I think when the world tells you something, you should listen to it.

Drop what you're doing and listen.

Don't think, just say, “Okay, I'm in.”

Do that, and you'll prosper.

Do that, and you'll win.

Do that, and the world will roll you a triple six 

in the Parcheesi portion of a board game tournament.

Do that and you'll take home the grand prize,

you'll be pretty pumped,

and you'll say, “Yes!”

"The world is awesome!"

"I cannot believe I just beat everybody at Parcheezi!"

"I don't even know how to play!"

 

Water Tower Day Job

At a water tower day job

your only task is to drain the water

built up in the storage silo

over the last couple of months;

and at a water tower day job

you don't ask questions.

It's just you and your scaffolding

at your water tower day job:

pull yourself up,

and repel on down.

Up and down,

up and down.

At your water tower day job,

you use that watch you were given

to time yourself, and you take your lunch

on your toilet office chair because

let's face it, the toilet's pretty comfortable

and you can't complain anyway.

At your water tower day job

you mean nothing to your boss,

who talks to you in these raspy

"Yeahs" and "God yeahs,"

when she's particularly excited.

Your always just a new face to her.

If I can offer your one strand of advice

at your water tower day job, it's don't

drink the water. Other than that, it has some perks.

Enjoy the view.

 

Bus Stations

Bus stations are interesting places

where you'll meet people that aren’t afraid

to talk to other people that are

afraid to talk to them.

It takes a certain level confidence

to affiliate yourself

when your unwanted, and even more

of this swagger when after 10 minutes

your audience looks scared beyond belief.

I imagine Gandhi must have felt this way.

Maybe Martin Luther King Jr.

All of those big names!

I bet they were all so scared

when it was their time to deliver

their message to the world.

Not this guy though,

not this Bus Station prophet,

because even though

I only met this guy briefly,

as he was getting dragged away,

this guy, this shoeless man put his head up to my

stomach in the middle of a crowded

terminal and said, “You ate Jesus!”

Back Alley Bendin' Ova'

A back-alley bendin ova' is what I observed,
and the man doing the bending was looking quite perturbed.
  
He was looking in a trash can,
was he throwing out some trash?
Well, whatever he was doing
I just couldn't look past the fact
that he was just a bendin' ova',
an action with mystique,
and so in hissecret alley path
I just had to take a peek-
'cause he was definitely up to mischief!
Up to danger!
Outa' whack!
And I could tell just by the angle
by which he seemed to arch his back
that he was bendin' ova' maniacally
to commit some sort of crime!

...But I guess I've just been bendin' ova' too
while I've watched him all this time.

Back Tattoo

While pining over a lost love

interest my friend divulged

his desire for one.

Talons brandished,

wings spread,

fangs doused

in wine of iron

and blood, he longed

for a dragon etched

mural-style across his back.

“And not just a dragon,”

he said,

“He'd be fighting a samurai;

and it would somehow

be more than that somehow,

you know?”

And it would be,

I saw it bleeding from

his discouraged eyes.

“Well that sounds awesome,”

I told him,

“I think it speaks to your character,

like conquering your demons and stuff.”

We both had a laugh over that one,

“You're too corny,” he told me,

“but that's what everybody likes about you.”

It was a heartfelt brotherly moment

I told myself I'd never forget

as we sipped our 40 ounce bottles of steel reserve

in a staples parking lot.