Green Specialized, in front of Angell Hall

I'll probably never see her again,

the girl that whizzed by on her bicycle--

I didn't even see her face.

But she seemed cool, which is to say

she couldn't say who totally shouldn't

have been voted off American Idol yesterday or

whether Elle's new Fall picks were so great or

when or to who J-Lo's next marriage would be.

It all seemed favorable to me just then,

her water bottle swaying from a bulky

unstylish backpack as she peddled,

holding on with one hand, wobbling a bit,

her sneakers slipping and gliding.

The event eclipsed itself as I waved

as her hair of flax waved back

and she passed, gone,

but that's not so important, as her just seeming

like my type of girl,

on a bike,

watching,

wearing only herself,

perceptive where it counts.