Photograph of a young Bicyclist passing a rusted old car from the 1950's

The Bicyclist

LGBTQ, Poetry

I ride my bike past your office

because

you say the secretary thinks
I’m cute,

you say it makes you smile.

I stop and wave and she opens
the door and winks and says with
hard Rs, “Ya gonna give it to me
when ya go straight, right?’

I wink back and smile as I ride off,

“Sure thing!”

That night we made love and slept
in each other’s arms: safe in the
childhood of our 20’s.

Image and poem (c) Rob Goldstein 1985-2018  

 


44 thoughts on “The Bicyclist”

  2. That last line, man. I love it. The entire post is beautiful, as is the picture. Goes hand in hand, for lack of a better term. Hey, how are you doing Robert? I’m reconnecting with people from my old blog. Anyhoo, keep on churning out the good stuff from your brain factory. Mad respect.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  9. Pingback: The Bicyclist – The Militant Negro™

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