when you brought it over that day
I remember thinking
it looks more like a Huffy
than a Harley
but you were so proud of your new ride
and the roar the thing made
that I could only giggle at your excitement
stupidly unaware of the way you looked at it
your blue-jeaned thighs straddled it
much like you were atop a thoroughbred
and I thought the scene funny, contradictory-
you soft lines and delicate features,
it jutting metal and screaming colors
even so
I felt like I might prick myself
If I dared touch either of you
I stood on the curb with my hands deep in my pockets
squinting
as the sun shot off of the red and chrome
like it was trying to keep me from seeing something
something on that bike
something behind the new dark glasses and sad smile
something you didn't want to show me
any more than I wanted to be shown
I think it was then
that I realized
you weren't going to ask me to come with you
and it was later,
after months of reliving that day
of wishing that bike had been big enough
for both of us,
that I realized
I couldn't have said yes