10:45 last night
It’s too late
For an essentially old woman like me
Given that
I am generally bad at riding bikes
In the dark
I swerve even more. Panic is taunting me
It’s faster
Than me, so it trots along. But then the moon
Swallows it
Full and orange it glows over the soy crops
Sometimes I
Wonder why I don’t stay up late more often
Suddenly
I’m in a bush. Unfortunate, while it is
I am calm
I am not swerving, and I smell like jasmine
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I love how each line takes a turn like I’m on the bike, too, swerving with the speaker–wonderful and fun!