Consecrated Concrete

I ride my “Women Inspired” Schwinn up to my friend’s path. My bike is magenta and the path is chartreuse, Swathed by the spent spring buds of a tree. I see Mister, who I call “Meester the Dog!” My friend slides her door open, Mister jumps to greet me. He is like a little, bright, brown pierogi, Boiling between my friend and I like we were the sides of a kettle. He is so happy, he pees on the patio and we smile and laugh. I see my friend standing by the door, And her great chocolate eyes and effulgent smile, So comfortable in her soft grey top and her soft grey pants. So comfortable in her skin. We talk of the mundane, of money, the funny, Tigers and Appleby’s, bogies and birdies. We are absolutely ourselves in each other’s company And she gives me delicious tea. I put my magenta bike into the wind, Pedaling happily home. I love this woman. Tomorrow many will observe a resurrection. The holy will stand in church and celebrate the power of a god. Today I stood on a bud strewn path. Today I saw my friend. Today I saw the sacred. Today I celebrate.