On a steep incline the houses seem to pour down the earth. Then they repeat again, from decline to peak; my bicycle takes me round and round and round. The sensation of sliding, as if to some inevitable conclusion.

We woke to the explosions and jumped on our bikes. Many of us were armed with nothing more than cardboard tubes, and rubber bands and paper clip ammo wiggled to mean barbs like our hearts.

Despite the dentist’s soporific
My imagination transformed
The street where I walked
Into a takeoff field