Caren Krutsinger Poet Narrative

He Almost Fell Off His Bike

He was circling her building, trying not to look at the curtains.
He knew them well. They were the peachy ones on the second floor.
Third window over from the edge of the building.
His bike was wobbly today, a reflection of his feelings.

Would she be looking out? Peeking behind those curtains?
Was there another guy in there, using his soap and his aftershave?
He decided to do another lap.
Maybe next time he would be able to look at that window.

He was not ready yet. The break up was too new.
“Jerod?”
He almost fell off his bike.
She was standing sixteen feet in front of him.

“When did you get back?”
His voice was not able to speak yet.
He held up two fingers.
She smiled, knowing him well.

“Did you want to come up and have a bit of tea?”
He nodded.
“You can bring the bike,” she said.
This was better than any scenario he had imagined.

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