Friday, January 4, 2008


I pull up slowly.
An old volvo station wagon rests in the turning lane, several feet ahead.
An earth worn bike is strapped to the back,
and the winds spins the front tire like a pinwheel.
The windows are crowded with stacks of clothing, backpacks, towels.
A potted plant fills the passengers seat.
I can't see the driver, only a bit of her profile.
I wonder where she is headed but the bike covers her license plate; I can't even see if she's just passing through.
I'm drawn back to the movement of the wheel.
I check my rearview, the man behind me is watching, and the man behind the volvo is watching too.
We are all hypnotized by the spinning tire.
Too soon, the light turns green.

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