God rode by today, hands clutching curved handlebars
of the golden green Stingray, eyes searching
the ground, body pushed onto the pedals.
I watched until He disappeared around
the corner, silently leaning into the curve,
intent on His duty elsewhere.
He neglected last night’s prayer,
where I paused to ask the question
that has plagued me from birth, God’s ear
leaning a little closer, eyes shut,
mouth forming the answer even He
couldn’t give, the parched throat too dry,
raspy heaves convulsing His chest, like
He had biked a thousand miles.
John Poole is a professor of English education at BYU-Idaho and a closet writer of poetry. His creative nonfiction pieces have appeared in Anchor and The Storyhouse Writer’s Showcase. He has published English education articles in English Journal and English Leadership Quarterly. This is his first published poem. He lives in Idaho Falls, Idaho, with his wife and six children.