Man-the man must have died
I say man because only men or boys
drive motorcycles like that
one of those fancy faux racing bikes
built to go fast and impress
by the time I passed
the body had been scraped from the pavement
tho the stain would take time to wear down
it was an eerie moist black
as if his soul had burned through the
pavement on its journey downward
the bikes front end was crushed
forks bent and twisted unnatural like broken bones
bystanders talking to police telling versions of tragedy
conscious of detail feeling important listened to
this lone biker had caused a minor traffic jam
and I got past and moved on
and I thought how this was the last act of
this person's life as the stain dries away
his life like a vapor disappears.
