About the Divorce

A man and his friend went bicycle riding

into the frosty air where shadow animals

like to dance. 

They kept their heads down, grunting

as they slipped back and forth

like hands warming,

waiting for the sun. A wolverine cranked out 

at them. It clunked and bristled and swiped,

claws long as spokes.

"If you go hungry in Kentucky it's your own

damn fault," said the one, smiling as they

approached a climb.

The other, who was looking heavy, especially 

on the downhills, said, "I know." He had met his wife

at the other's wedding.

"Join the Baptist Church when you get there.

Those women will take care of you.

They'll make you casseroles."

"Oh, yes." Each matched the cadence of the other,

stroke for stroke. The sun was high up and it began

welding their backsides.

They went grinding out the miles, the sun fusing

their spines until they found themselves together, 

riding a tandem.