Aqua Velva Man

by Michelle M. Buchanan

WITH polyester plaid
that clung to his skin,
he rode in from time
on a chrome-plated Schwinn.

Sprayed-on hair
the color of brown magic marker,
a comb in his back pocket
greased it even darker.
A big collared shirt, sky blue satin
only buttoned half way
proudly displayed a forest
of contradictory gray.

The scent of refreshing,
invigorating blue bottle
swept up around me
as he laid down on that imaginary throttle.

He peddled and he pumped
that two wheeled aluminum steed
and let loose of the handle bars
as he gained optimal speed.

He stretched out his arms
floating like a wind glider,
I could only wonder why his banana seat
didn't carry a second rider.

So suave,
so debonair
he rode the streets
and ruled the air.

The scene began to change
as he drove out of range.
In a flash, it happened so fast
Thump, bang, crash!

I stood with one eye slightly ajar
I could barely see his legs,
flip over his head
as he hit that unsuspecting parked car.

I ran to his aid, but alas, he was gone.
All that was left
was a red, cracked reflector
laying in the neighbors lawn.

It sits on my nightstand
like an indian dream catcher
sending me visions
of my one and only, Aqua Velva man.

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