Last Day in Scotland

You left so much undone. 
The closest you got to the castle
was a Royal Mile tee-shirt shop.
Some essential Scottish flavor 
went untasted because you didn't 
make time for the whisky tour. 
And the Writer's Museum. Wasn't that 
supposed to be your first stop?
Hell, you couldn't even make it 
out of Edinburgh. Now all you have 
is one thin day to get it right.
You hold your latte as if awaiting 
benediction. 

But who's to say 
you aren't (mmm that milky warmth 
is good) receiving it right now? 
The window of the rented flat 
is open to the morning. Rain 
drifts in. Hello. Chants and drumbeats 
from the cobbled street's parade
alight like birds. Good morning. 
What is it you should do? 
What is it you should ever do?
Get up. Go out the door. Receive 
the day in friendship. A voice
is calling you. She says let's go.

Riding a Bicycle in a Suit of Armor

Riding a bicycle in a suit of armor
is still riding, I tell myself, and better
than some other pursuits -- like climbing
and surfing and love -- that I abandoned 
after simple slips submerged me 
in forces I could not control. 
Now my life is people passing on the left. 
I do not mind. I do not mind. I ...
I keep my helmet visor down and swelter 
in this metal. But I'm safe if I should fall.