41F

Moving against the 5-O bike commute on the mainline.

Got MDs heading at me, swerving and curving.

They’re hustling to get the hell home,

Out of the UW hospital,

Into the Seattle owl-eye darkness,

And pushing the limits of their stroboscopic LEDs.

Attack mode,

And a busted collarbone waiting at next RR xing.

No problem, an orthopod should be around.

I got my hundred bucks of groceries rattling on the back rack, PCC.

Don’t need to worry too much about my ice cream,

It’s 41F and getting real.

In what ways am I blowing a Condor away?

Couldn’t think of any.

But it did remind me that the great one,

The one, some say, was the last guy in America that knew what he was doing,

Said a computer was like this for our minds.