By popular demand, poem number one from the poetry class I'm taking. It's based on Theodore Roethke's "Dolor."
And let me tell you (speaking of bikes, which I will be once you get to the poem), I was feeling pretty smug this week about my general bikiness and my relative lack of accidents despite the miles and miles and miles I put in--until I totally ate it on an unexpected patch of ice getting to school in the morning. There's nothing more humbling than falling on your ass on the side of a huge intersection, especially after you've been self-satisfyingly congratulating yourself about how you never do stupid shit like that. Oh well.
I have known the unfettered ecstasy of a lubricated chain,
Running like quicksilver, adrenaline of new gears and cables,
All the buoyancy of lightweight aluminum, carbon, polypropylene,
Perfection in the shape of a tempered bottom bracket,
The heart-breaking curve of drop bars and click of shoes to pedals,
Joyful seat cupping firm buttocks lovingly,
Pumping thighs and lungs breathing pure ice--in, out,
The flashing rush of road beneath black rubber.
And I have passed the hordes of slick spandex,
Breathing freedom between the on-your-lefts,
Red muscle fibers contract and relax effortlessly,
Strong and secure as a helmet fit snug; anxieties trail behind
As lithe and carefree as my wind-whipped hair.