Friday, May 17, 2013

Life cycle


Diabolical of them to graft
a wayward gene to the constellation
of my bicycle frame, a sleepy bit
of stowaway code, a smidge of excess
weight compounding countless uphill climbs
a drunken tar in the singing rigging
on downhill runs, chewing the scenery
biding time, laying up against the day
some unseen hand throws a distant switch
to slow the pedals down, rims spinning
at 33 ⅓, my collection
of 78’s rendered obsolete
as I tried to explain on Tuesday
afternoon midway up a murderous
hill that used to blow me kisses
and pat my bottom, but I don’t think you
heard me, racing past on your way to the top.

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