192
Sonnets From Other Lives: Walt

He spent most of the summer by himself.
When Mom left for work he would get up
& ride his bike. In his mind he cast a spell
over the quiet labyrinthine pavement of
his suburban neighborhood. It disappeared
& was replaced by a string of lurid stories.
His adventures spun around his head like gears
of his derailleur. T.V. shows were boring
compared to the tales he spun
on those muggy summer afternoons.
He stopped watching—hardly spoke to anyone.
When he wasn’t riding he was in his room—
it was for him a kind of meditation—
living in a world of his own narration