Oakwood Comic Book Program - Oakwood Healthcare System

George McVey
Call Me Caduceus
Don’t Mess With A Honda Civic
Geneva Larrair
The light was yellow – I’m sure it was.
Wolf and Monk roared past me.
Digging in, holding tight, I pushed it.
A Honda Civic – A Honda Civic! – wiped me out.
A thin, bright light urges me to follow.
My life is a light show on a tunnel wall.
Wolf, Monk and me (Walt and Mark when we were ten)
Flying our bikes over makeshift ramps, popping wheelies
Standing on Banana Seats, and, “Look no hands.”
Bruises and sprains – badges of honor.
Later, lanky boys leaning into berms, breathing exhaust and digesting dirt,
An occasional trophy of no consequence.
The adrenal rushes of the earth soaring beneath us,
Thrill of the ride: that was the prize.
Dads asked, “What will you do with your lives?”
“Ride, man, ride,” our answer.
Construction jobs bought our “Hogs.”
From Copper Harbor to St. Pete,
Dealing with diesel dirt, insects and demon drivers
The road was ours,
Taking curves as low as we could go.
Now hands press against my failing heart,
Hands trained to heal, to squeeze, to pump and pound
Until life returns to a body too broken to heal.
I hear their demanding voices,
“Hang on, man, hang on! Beat, damn it, beat!”
I cry out, “Give it up.
“I am at peace. I feel nothing.
“The ride is over.”
They assume life should go on in this empty shell.
I stand my ground, deny them conquest over death.
The Riderless Bike calls. I hit the road – no helmet required.
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