No Licence

I’ve tried to write so often in
my life – My grandfather had
a bike – no car – bicycle clips

on his pressed trouser legs –
traditions of not-quite-done
passed down father to son &

other excuses set to pause a
next step – A sweet excess of
achievement has passed us

all – My father would trace a
perfect circle – freehand – &
wrote as if annotating plans

in his scene of crime notes –
No one I speak to reads my
poetry – I post filled-in lines