I wonder at the world that lies behind the eyes of the sour-faced dog walker.
Did I upset you by not getting off my bike to cross the bridge?
I crossed the bridge as I always do,
One foot of my pedal scooting along as I did when I first learned to ride my bike
I remember Dad’s joy when I finally managed it,
Showing him proudly after a weekend of practising at Gran-Molly’s house by the sea.
I remember him showing me how I could scoot with one leg when navigating tricky paths
I love to do it now, feeling like I’m playing, living in the echoes of that distant connection.
But you were not happy, stony face to my grin and ‘good morning!’
Maybe you’re just not a morning person? Or maybe you are a mourning person?
Grief does strange things, after all it has to me, I miss Dad.
It could be me, how I ride my bike or maybe that I do?
Maybe you’re fed up with cyclists, I mean, I sometimes am, so why shouldn’t you be?
It could be you are just a miserable person. Do I have a right to be smiled at?
Probably not. Nevertheless, I wonder…
I think next time I see you, I will slow down and try to win a smile.
Listening to - Keystrokes In Silence - Me