image searching the nebraskan countryside (sad children’s poem)

When he got on his bike,
to go to the river,
he was honked off the highway,
and walked instead though a ditch.

Though he soon found his way
to a quieter street,
where he would bike now more slowly,
while listening close

for small imperfections,
like his brake,
now off-center,
rubs on the wheel.

He gets off his bike,
he hopes he can fix it
but it was all he could do
to imagine the lake.

So come the next day,
he went on a walk,
but it was already too late
for him to go by that way.

He was walking so slowly,
and bored the whole way.
Listening to headphones,
while traffic blew the notes away.

Then he was called in for work,
and when he picked up his phone
all he could think,
was: ‘why was it this,
of all the sounds that I could have missed?’

though he knew if he’d have ignored it,
he’d soon have to forgo
the privilege of eating
and he’d starve soon enough.

So he wonders at how lucky
he truly must be
to have his walk to the river
ruined in this way.

Then on the coming weekend
he called up his close friend
but they could not walk together
again by the lake.

It’s been years now,
and they’ve come so far since meeting,
that his close friend, he now lives
in the next state.

They talk on the weekends
and sometimes the evenings
although the friend’s commute
sometimes stretches all night.

Maybe a year or two later,
they plan, though quite sadly,
‘we will both quit our jobs,
and buy a home on the bay.’

He knows it’s expensive
and carries the matters
of insurance and eating
and paying off loans

But the bay’s not the plan,
it’s just there to kill time.
Something he can laugh at a bit later,
when he’s begun to feel great.

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