my day is determined
by four flags
whipping a wayward wind
toward the horizon
or reluctantly at rest
like limp rags,
their staunch appearance
a reminder of resistance.

i pedal past,
search for meaning.
will they tell me how my day will be?
in order,
in darkness
they loom before me,
first at the sin shop
lined with gluttonous cars,
then two in a row
miles down the road,
spotlighted in glory
on the hilltop of wealth,
and at last at the great institution,
lit up by a just-rising sun
awaiting my timed arrival.

they tell me if i’m crazy
(yes! the wind is your enemy today!)
remind me of my strength
(you made it! half a mile to go!)
predict my future
(it’s a long road ahead!)

but
there are no words
there is no wind
i have no muscles
that can swallow
all the hidden pain
that those wind-whipped flags
endure in their threadbare stance
as they tell me the truth in
the only way my heart will hear it.