Ten-Speed

Four miles

does not seem very far, 

does not sound very far,

even in a city like Los Angeles.

Especially at three in the morning,

when you can safely assume

traffic will be light;

and even on a bicycle - 

     I was in pretty good shape - 

I figured I could be to your place

in fifteen, twenty minutes tops

and told you so over the phone,

telling you to just hold on, 

just wait fifteen minutes and I would

be there and we could talk it out, 

that I would stay with you until the morning

and then we could go get coffee in

Santa Monica and I would skip work

and spend the day with you, so just

hold on, don't do anything you will

regret.

I love you like a brother, I told you,

and just hang on until I get there,

goddammit. But no matter how hard

I rode, and how many cars there actually were

out at three-fifteen a.m. and how many

nearly ran me over, it turns out that

four miles is exactly the distance

from before to after,

from the possible to the irreversible,

from one side of the world

     to the other. 

From one broken heart to two.