Turbulence
I am not much like a bird,
not in the least aerodynamic,
more like the ones who didn’t survive evolution,
ungainly, tethered to the ground.
The closest I ever came to flight was on my ten-speed,
too young, too fast, shirttail flapping behind me,
strobing between streetlights toward Ani’s house,
my bird-beating heart full of turbulence, fearless,
safer amongst cars than in the bike lane, which (then as now)
was a deathtrap of sand, gravel, and discarded cigarettes.
About the Author: Dudley Stone’s poetry is Pushcart Prize-nominated and has previously appeared in AOITB as well as Pennsylvania Literary Journal (PLJ), MORIA, and table//FEAST. In addition, his writing for the stage has been seen in theatres from California to Connecticut, and he is a proud member of the Dramatists Guild and the Kentucky State Poetry Society. He has a B.A. in Theatre from the University of Kentucky and studied playwriting at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. Mr. Stone lives in Lexington, KY.
Image Credit: Unknown Artist ” A dodo with inscription ‘Dronte'” Public domain image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
As It Ought To Be 
