Witnessed on the road, as I biked home:
· a crow so large as my cat, picking with insistence upon the corner of a swollen bag of refuse
· A rat crushed beneath a tire’s vehicle
· Gore from said rat, which I tried to imagine innocuous – telling myself pomegranate seeds, cranberry juice
· My legs, spinning to and fro in a rather comic way, as I sought to gain elevation beyond the scope of sight and sound of the man screaming “you fucking whore”
· The grey shape of the man on his bike; how large and determined and sure he was, as he pedaled towards me, screaming “you fucking whore”
· My strange and sure and sickly whimsical surety that the man was speaking to me, not only at me
