Tags
Biking, Dirt Bike, Outdoors, Persistance, Poetry, Road Bikes, Rocky Roads, Terrain, Unsuitable Trails
My road bike and I
Have reached an understanding.
With its curved handlebars,
Thin tires,
And delicate frame,
It is built for speed down
Smooth, paved roads,
And not the
Rock-studded trails
And grey-dusted paths
To which
I subject it.
But my bike
Is only a bike,
So it does not complain,
For it cannot choose
Its own terrain.
Occasionally,
It signals dissatisfaction
With the pop of a tire,
A whine of a break,
Or an ill-fated buck
That pitches its disgruntled rider
To the ground.
I threaten
The insubordinate beast
With talk of the cute dirt bike
I passed last week.
But eventually,
I dust us off, and
Climb back on.
And we continue our ride
Down unsuitable trails.
My bike
Is a temperamental bike:
Garish and orange,
Old and inherited,
And entirely my own.
I couldn’t part with it
As I couldn’t part with
My own body,
Which is also
Curved,
Thin,
Delicate,
And unsuitable for
The bumpy,
Rock-studded trails
Life merrily pushes me down.
I, too,
Occasionally buck
And fall
And whine
To spite
My ill-tempered rider,
Who must be a fool
To think that I could last long
On this strange terrain.
But, eventually,
I stand back up,
Dust us off,
Pick up body and bike both,
And continue to ride
Down our unsuitable trails.