the biker

I have a Royal Enfield Thunderbird but this note isn’t about either of us

it’s about a guy in my office complex who rides an Enticer to work everyday

his Enticer is fitted with extra wheels on the side, like a child’s cycle

no, he’s not a wimp

he’s probably the bravest man I’ve seen

you see, the thing is that this guy doesn’t walk

he crawls

his legs are twisted and bent under him, like a tortoise coil made out of skin and sinew

like the sweet god of creation changed his mind halfway

only halfway

so everyday, he inches forward like a gravel swimmer, slowly, painfully

and proudly

I feel like rooting for him, clapping like a wound-up toy monkey

but to do so would be to acknowledge what he’s fiercely forgetting every minute of his life

so I stay quiet, avert my gaze till I hear the roar of the motorcycle

only then do I turn to see him riding away

I don’t even know his name

but I know that I’m 5 feet 8 inches tall and he that towers over me.

ram cobain