Milestone

Ted Morrissey

Mount Vernon, Illinois, 1994

You rode figure-eights on the asphalt court,
your bicycle wheels turning in perfect unison
like practiced ballroom dancers.

You raced nowhere against the setting sun,
whose amber rays fringed the tops of trees
surrounding the deserted park.

A trio of silent bats ascended and swooped
in pursuit of invisible air-borne insects,
and a distant streetlight marked the time.

A darkened car stopped near the pavilion,
and music poured like harmful fumes
from its unknowable interior.

“Time!” I called from my hilltop post,
pointing to my wrist’s luminous line
where the watch used to be.

Reluctantly, you ended your first day
as a master of mysterious balance,
secure on the cracking asphalt court.

Tomorrow the endless streets would call
like sirens from a dangerous shore,
and retire this milestone to memory.