The morning after I got the call

Frost clung to the fields of grass

As the sun brimmed the horizon.

Trees blushed, cast off leaves,

Drifted down, settled like shadows

Of colored light, circular, gathered round.

*

I remember a morning like this,

The dawn, yawning, spreading  

The shadows of our bikes like

New mercies over warm pavement.

We were faithful to the road,

The open road he knew so well.

*

That day there was no double-clutching,

No whine whistling of his tractor trailer.

We were hugging the white line as the

Scenery scrolled by, slow and deliberate.

Peripheral perceptions keeping pace,

A sweaty grace.

*

It was a simple day back in ’80.

Pedals orbiting, words bouncing back–

Then forth, sometimes caught in the spokes.

Prayer wheels spinning, and changing gears.

We were present to each other,

One of the greatest gifts on this side of the line.

*

John had passed me now,

Riding ahead, pedaling toward 

The Light of the world,

He looked over his shoulder and

Through a dipped lower lip said,

“Put the pedal down brother. Look!”

John Barrett

September 20, 1958-November 2, 2021

Beloved husband, father, grandfather, brother, and friend.