There are his shoes. So where is he?
I ponder as I tie the laces, tighter than necessary.
But I should not wonder where he would be.
Gone on to where shoes are not needed – my tears come easy.
This is his riding jacket. So where is he?
I think as I put it on, though the weather deems it unnecessary.
But where he rides, of weather he need not worry.
For where he rides, the weather will be perfect – my hands are shaky.
These are his keys. So where is he?
I think as I pick them up from the bowl for the key
He used to argue that bikes have souls too, you see.
Yet his ride is here, but the rider is me.
That is his picture on the wall and there is he.
And that will remain as his best memory:
Standing on the podium with a face of glee
and I walk as if in a trance, alone with his family.
And it was the hospital that held his last memory
for me, crying out for a friend I was losing rapidly.
Flash Fiction For The Purposeful Practitioner: Week #27– 2016 – 184 words.
Sentence to be used in story: “There’s his shoes. So where is …”
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