Hey, Woody!

I'd been to the Tibetan exhibit
That morning, and some of
The serenity rubbed off on me.

Now I was riding my bike
Through the park, listening
To mellow jazz and whistling.

I stopped at a crosswalk
And checked out the woman
Sitting on a bench.

She didn't feel right
But she was dressed correctly,
So I kept whistling.

She started whistling too,
Mocking me, then came
Right up to my face—

"Hey, Woody! Your sister blew
The whistle on you! Everyone knows
What a jerk you are!"

I've got a sister
And a guilty conscience,
But my name's not Woody.

I looked her in the eye, and rode
Right past that hate, until I came
To a calmer place: "Chill out!"

Then I turned away,
Which isn't easy
When you're sitting on a bike.

Part of me knew she would strike
And was ready for a fight.
The Tibetan part knew

She'd wander back to her bench,
The light would change,
And I would ride away.

©2016 Michael Fraley

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