BICYCLING

RECALLING THE REPETITIONS OF PEDDLING,

A GOOD RIDE, RECOILING AND RECALL

Back from ride. Drops in the eyes.

Eyes good. Karen back from coffee.

A showing with her quilt. Healthy eyes.

My ride goes up Washington Ave

to the end. Johnny Wright singing Hello Vietnam.

I pull into an orchard between pears and apples,

glean an apple from the ground, Honey Crisp?,

sweet. Crunchy. Eating with one hand on bars

until I stop at light and turn on to 72d,

a 50-year old song booming

Or freedom will start slipping through our hands

fires we don't put out will bigger burn,

riding the sidewalk. This stretch full

of dumpsters with grass clippings,

this being Tuesday. It's quite a weave,

but walk free of glass. Last week one

handle bar clips a mailbox and I end up

in a private drive, but on my feet.

West Valley Library's between two lights

and I pull into bike rack and lock up.

Carrying a back pack just in case.

Check out new books. Pull out What the Hell happened?

Election of 2016, by the Rolling Stone editor,

walk to call number 759, to see if the Wyeth

books have come in. They haven't.

But this: 12 Centuries of Japanese Imperial Art,

carry it to the reading section, find this poem,

anonymous calligraphy, Let our Way, poetry

That we have rightly received

From the age of the gods

Not want in this world!

I take pictures with my IPhone

and when I get home find I don't have

some info in book I need. Sloppy work.

I'll pay for that and never know when!

Replacing both books on shelves

I'm back on my bike, peddling

uphill to light at Summitview,

shifting down into first gear

on middle sprocket, avoiding goatheads

as I wobble. It's mainly downhill from here,

fast all the way home, but lots of glass,

why is that? glass I know is here,

but fail to anticipate every time.

Zig-zag some, then safe past 64th

one mile to on flat paved shoulder

back to Washington and home.

Bump-stocks in Las Vegas bounce.

Like a song of repetition.

Bouncing. What gets easier comes

with leg strength and peddling.

Familiarity of the common.

Words in journals banging,

this ride ends at home with my

index finger on the automatic garage door opener.

Jim Bodeen

4-5 October 2017