FROM THE RED ROAD

down the stairs and out the drive
open the gate. please!
my little road, xiao lu
only locals here
I get some looks
that white guy in the funny suit

cross 4 lanes-watch the cars
they wont stop
onto the path
a red road by the sea.
the pace is fast
and obstacles abound
people, scooters, cars, and trucks,
and those 3 person bikes
are the worst.
but I fly with the wind
which means
it will be hard coming back

close to school it gets trickier
the hotels and cars, and places to eat
people step out without a look
past the opera house
dodging bullets
disguised as people.
and those 3 person bikes
are the worst.
back across
those that 4 lanes sea
now its dense
traffic flies and does not stop
quick, make your move
or give it up

the bicycle I am on
gets lots of looks
its not from here
brought from home
its fast and black
all tapped up
an urban machine
with a single fixed gear
and funny mustache bars.
the helmet and glasses
and yellow clothes
keep me visible, not for vanity
I WANT to be seen,
to survive


I’ve have seen it all from this
red road.
my daily interface
with a country
anything is possible in this fast ride
a bamboo pole smacked across my hand
a ball rolls by, kids jump, the wedding photo entourage,
lost in texting these people wont look up, cars fly out of blind drives
and those 3 person bikes
are the worst.

up the hill and through Xiada
zoom its fast
lock that horse to my special pole
now its dark
a different pace
strap on the lights
buckle up here we go
if you thought it was tough, in light
night is not, for the faint of heart

pick my way through
the drones of traffic
people, bikes, cars, busses
all hungry, for a piece of me
cross that 4 lane sea
whose current is a raging river now.
that first buss stop is tough
a sea of people loitering about.
food carts and candied fruit on a stick
these are better in Beijing.
the Opera house recently plays
soap opera movies
as the troupe is away

a sprint up the hill
halfway home
men jump from the bushes in the dark
a place to pee
Chinese men will pee anywhere.
half way up the willow tree beckons
the benches now empty
only ghosts sitting there.
off the hill, I turn it up
the crowd has thinned
and I can open the pace
watch the taxi stand and those
3 person bikes
they’re the worst




checkpoint 1
now blocked to cars. almost
round the curves
the wind fights hard
I have to push
my quads down tight
no matter what, I keep my pace
which means
hard work as sweat drips off my face

past the yellow key, almost home
the sea pounds the beach
the stars twinkle
people in black emerge from the night
like ghosts
and those 3 person bikes
are the worst.
checkpoint 2
a policeman playing solitaire
on a computer

back across the 4 lane sea
out here the current is slow, and empty
back on my little road
total darkness now
almost home
anything can happen on this last stretch
a buss stop in the bushes
out of my way!-3 monster earth movers
with their high beams on
I scoot off to the side-whew still alive, blind
last night a Porsche zooms by
from behind
while a man on a garbage cart
pedals home

Open the gate I ring my bell
these guys play with me and make me wait
up the last hill
left to my door, lights off and helmet unclipped
3 flights up
the hardest part
but I have yet, to succumb to the elevator.
click click and I am in
strip the armor
the funny suit
all yellow and a helmet, off with my bag
peel off the gloves
untie the shoes and wheel her in




another day of life
a rush to make you thrive
I sit a moment
to contemplate
it feels so great
to push the ride.
heart is pumping, strong with blood
my mind is engaged
I take a breath in the wooden chair
as a rain of sweat
puddles on the floor

and those 3 person bikes,
are the worst