going home

I sit
I light a smoke
I hate the taste of it
A thought starts to form
Some words
Not that again
I shift I twitch
I grab my phone
To find diversion
Deserving of attention
There’s none
I’m not ready
I check what doesn’t need checking
Not again
I stub out the smoke
I stand
I chuck the phone into my bag
I want to be ready
Thoughts come back
I will fight them away
Before they find images
The images are the worst
I will blast them with other words
Pointless words
To fill my mind
I’m almost ready
I take the cream out of my bag
I unscrew the cap
I recite these words in my head
I put, no, apply cream on my hands
To hide the smell
I put the cream back in my bag
I check for my keys
I hear their tinkling
I say each step almost out loud
I take out my phone
I untangle my headphones
Stick them in the socket
Shove the phone deep in my pocket
I don’t want to hear its silence
The headphones dangle down my leg
I’m not ready
I put on my gloves
I put on my helmet
I take one off
To buckle the clasp
To fit the headphones in my ears
To find music that won’t remind me
I do not say this
This is one of those thoughts
I do not turn the music on
I recite more words in my head
Words I know to be true
I put on my glove
Telling of the moment
The wind is chilly
Of what is real
I grab my handle bars
I straddle my bike
The kickstand squeaks back
My breath squeaks
when one of those thoughts
I push on the peddle and head off
I am not ready
But I’m going
Home

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