INTERNET POEM

Pouring in Baltimore

∞ posted 2 years ago

One, three, then near a hundred street illegal (mostly dirt bikes and atvs) came pouring onto Pratt St., while my brothers, and (now fiance) Katie were walking to the Ale House.

Between Eutaw and Howard, the three-on-a-bike kids, teens screeching on brakes, leaning back, propping up on one tire like prairie dogs, demanded traffic to stop, as more popped over and off curbs, drifting and swirling in hot circles, leaving rubber as a foot print.

We’re all quiet.

Warren thinks this is like Mad Max, Saul’s on the phone with the police, “yes, there are street illegal bikes here disrupting traffic, thought you’d like to know.” I think it looks like this.

For awhile, all we hear are revving engines, kicking up and out.

Our server brings frothy headed microbrews to us, palm up, four glasses on a tray.

We toast.

This is my first drink with my brothers. We’re all in our twenties now.

Toasted malt, heavy bodied “Breakfast Stout,” like my brother.

Pressed lips, and a breath through my nose.

My hard palette tastes the darkness of oatmeal, as it spreads.

One, three glasses later, the cycles are a memory and an anecdote.