Blessing of the Bike
May Day, Father Jerome and I
eat bacon cheeseburgers.
Just arrived from Colorado,
his grey hair is crew cut, and he’s leaner.
He looks more like his grandfather. Grey hair.
He smiles then bites into his burger from West Pier,
and an onion chunk falls to the ground.
Father J says the sky is crisper and calls for
the Mango Sentinel
—aged but still swift, familiar.
Drinks his milkshake and laughs.