today i rode my bike for the first time in months.
the raw sun was shining on my skin as i slipped my sunglasses on,
the ones that had been on my shelf collecting dust.
my seafoam green bike was on its side when i pulled it from my crowded garage
and i kicked off my yard to get down the street.
and i pedaled and pedaled and pedaled
until my legs were throbbing.
i rode down the hill four times and i stood on the pedals for two of those times.
i passed pedestrians and i passed cars, all in which i offered a smile that i thought had been long gone.
it was refreshing to feel the wind in my hair and the fresh air in my cramped lungs.
and when i came back home from a wonderful journey,
the lights in my house were off and everything was dark,
everything was turbulent.
and i wanted so badly to feel that great pain my legs again and ride my bike in the sun for hours, hours, hours.
i did not want to be home. i did not want to be home.
i wanted to be out, to be out and discern the difference between the light from my flickering lightbulbs,
and the light of the sun.
r.k.
YOU ARE READING
Meathead Monologue
PoetryI wanted everyone and everything; all the time and all at once. [volume ii] [poetry and prose] [2017-2019]
