The crunching noise of the
gravel rolls off my ears
under my wheels as
my mind rushes at the flight of wind
and my legs are no longer mine
but part of the bike that rides
through the tough
hills the push, push, my heart, and legs until,
the breath, in my lungs, runs out.
Through the rolling rides when the
swift wind hugs my shoulders
and leaves my pedals
And then—I’ve reached home and my legs
separate and the magical machine I was on
becomes an inanimate object once again.
I tried to play with the shape of the poem to make it seem like the hills and valleys that I bike on, so please let me know if that added to the poem, if you liked it or didn’t like it, etc.
Yay! That’s two posts in two days! I’m getting better 🙂