Dirty

The kid asked me why?, and that stumped me.
The man.   younger than me.  Not a boy.
23 or 24.


I'd said, "clean your bike, its really dirty".
I'd stopped.  Waited for him.
He walked across the road, pushing a trek, with clip-ons.
The front tire, holding no air.


"you need a tube"


Why,  clean the bike.
I road up the last hill thinking,
and in the shower,
I kissed my wife as she left for work, to work.
She is a make-up artist, and she's signed on to do a few, 10 days, on the pilot being shot here.


I sat on the threshold to our old, real old house.  Nice out.
I watched the cats.  Waved as she left for work.


Why'd I offer to fix his bike.
It's not vanity that I check my reflection in the front window to make sure my helmet is not cockeyed.


It was nice to pump up the tire.  to set the wheel into the fork.
and hand it back to him.


I did not have an answer.




dl.