beautiful—I
was ashamed
to admit—her sunglasses far too
balloon shaped
and maroonish and heavy silver—her
mouth, which was precisely drawn
for pursing and
smiles and other
small
gestures, presently hanging far too
wide open—
her entire body
simply too upright, dignified in the
lightness of its angle, billowy
in the innocent
continuity of its sun-
translucent
cotton morning attire,
and utterly
uninterested in assuming a posture
deferential
to however
flirtatiously it might be rubbing
up against the taunting
masculinity of loud motors now—for this
commuter
bicycle
riding idea thing—not to have been
either
a vaunting mistake—or else,
the clichéd
aftermath of some late-
breaking Waterloo.
breaking Waterloo.