Brazen he walks, shoes cut sharp as sails
roaming with the sky, careful
knees that tilt rather than bend,
windward.

White horse with dark mane, coattails
braced by his hull
holding his mast sturdy, his crown perched
adorned in sunglasses and
full lips.

With whip and smartly clip,
he curls his eyes around what lies before him,
never glancing,
like the face of a mountain.

If I cannot catch
his attention, I think I’ll slip my leg
twixt his

send him straight to the concrete.

I’ll avoid the earthquake his body creates
by springing to his aid,
mentioning
black ice.