STEAMROLLED

I come to where I usually take a detour—
a stretch where the pavement has been roughed up
in preparation for new pavement.
Now, I see machines laying new blacktop,
so I ride on the new surface.
The material is sticky, almost soft, maybe warm,
and I wonder if my bike’s tires are sinking in.
Presently, I hear people yelling, “Sidewalk!”
I know they mean I should get off the street,
but I don’t get off.
Then I hear a horn that comes from a steamroller.
I didn’t know steamrollers had horns.
I ride around the monster machine
to where the new blacktop ends.
The road is rough again.
I ride onto the sidewalk.

–Thaddeus Rutkowski


Poetry

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