poetry

My mind wanders when I'm on the bike.
Sometimes it turns to poetry,
but...we'll see.
Mostly it takes in snapshots along the way,
roadside moments
that inhabit my thoughts
so I'll have small conversations with myself.

The lupines are fading too quickly.
They are going to seed.
Their colors once rich and thirst quenching are like paper.

My mind grabs colors along the way;
the pink of my shirt,
the yellow of the wildflowers in the ditch
the blue trailer and vibrant red of the farm tractor as I speed past it on the road.
Thrilling!

Thoughts sift in and out of me like wind.
The word courage comes to mind;
What does it really mean?
I think about people who die. They have courage too.
There are the other bikers who wave or nod as I see them.
I try to remember their names from the conversation we had weeks ago.
There is a sale going on at the dirty little grocery store.
Hamburger is $1.99 a pound.
And coke is 4 packs for $10.
Who waters the potted flowers
on a very ancient looking grave stone
in a Jewish-only cemetery
with its sign dated 1888?
I stop thinking when I have to focus on the hill;
You know the one: by the golf course.
The one I hate every time, that never gets easier.
My shoulders tense as I approach it and it's not long before my legs are burning from the pain of it.
My thoughts are back as quickly as my muscles loosen,
back to the birds in the tree
and the faded work glove lying alone in the center of the road,
the clink of glasses from a nearby house.

I've made my decision before I've even thought of it.
I am riding longer tonight.
I can tell by the speed I am going as I reach the intersection,
the one where I turn left toward home,
but instead I keep riding, straight ahead:
lost in thought and rhythm.