He Rides By Night

A polished metal skeleton gleams under a porch light. He slides a silver tube beneath skinny legs, pivots on a straining fulcrum, meshing gears rattle, knees unlock. He rides by night. A dynamo flickers as head bent, he powers up hill and down. He will not stop until he gets to her parents’ home. He arrives panting, one window is still lit, he imagines it’s her window. He feels the gut hollowing sorrow of young unrequited love. At school she barely acknowledges him. When he has caught his breath he turns the bike around and rides back into the dim lamplit streets. The night rider cycles on. He will ride again until his bike is stolen.