Old hands on the wheel
waiting for my wife
in the fog-shrouded
Sunset District.

Bulging maps pulsate
on back of both hands
reveal traffic getting
more congested every year.

I see a fork in the road.
and chuckle as I recall
Yogi Berra’s quip:
“If you see a fork in the road,
take it!”


She returns and we head for
the Panhandle Park.

About to turn right
when a biker flies by,
snorting like a bull
with a picador’s lances
sunk deep in his neck.

One centimeter,
one second,
one distracted glance
was all that lay
between this hombre
biking off in a rage
as he cursed
and flipped me the finger
and an ambulance
carrying away
his shattered
bloody corpse.