she stands in a suburb
hovering outside
of her gated garden
(the first i have seen).

at home suburbs are twenty miles
from the city center.
here?
less than three.
yes, you heard me right,
the rubbernecked
jaw-to-the-floor looks,
the total appall?

they’re for the three miles
i have put behind me
in seventeen minutes of cycling
(all at sea level, i might throw in)
they think i’m crazy

well…
perhaps turning down
a viable job,
a hefty raise,
and all the American security
i could ever ask for,
and cashing it in for a year in Spain?

vale, lady,
close your gate,
put my bike in your garage,
and let me
tuck my sanity in my back pocket
while i make my new living
speaking English to your children.

let’s save crazy for another conversation
(one neither of us will wholly understand)