I
sit near the door
man
in tights
black
Lycra shorts
my
favorite jersey
six-years-old
yellow
helmet tucked
under
my arm
I
sit near the door
waiting
out the rain
my
mind on the asphalt
I
should be biking but
I’m
not so instead I read
a
poem or think I read
a
poem or imagine I read
a
poem, Luci Shaw perhaps
hiking
a rocky seashore
or
Wendell Berry walking
the
woods and keeping
the
Sabbath especially
in
the rain
I
don’t need trails
in
the woods or rocky climbs
by
the seashore, not today
anyway
instead just a ribbon
of
asphalt that replaced
the
railroad tracks that
carried
dreams then
but
now the dreams
are
carried only
on
two inflatable tires.
It’s
still raining.
Photograph by George Hodan via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
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