dark gray pool of pavement
a football field sized yard-driveway
of an entrance ramp
to the ferry

It wallowed off at 9:35,
a good departure time
for the tardy.

I stood there,
bicycle under hand
legs astraddle bar
waiting for the ferryman to wave us on

the bicyclists:
the unmotorized,
the vulnerably independent,
the poor-by-choice,
in this case,

(Not all poverties are penurious.)

I had abundant pennies in my
6 week old checking account

I simply had no car by choice

Life was simpler at 22
Even though it felt then so complicated

I am all grown up now
and nostalgic for a time
when I thought pain would never end