Old poem: “Cycling”


The bike store woman customer wore black shorts

And a yellow fleece jacket and had legs

That were not supermodel constructed

But could ride forever.

Health shone out of her like a herd

Of 1K lights without gels.

Her eyes were fifty five.

She needed nothing from me.

My legs were tired from driving the car

Twelve blocks from the house.  Will I ever learn to

Stop treating my temple like a body.

I bought bungee cords for my old bags

To drag up and down hill, the old glacier lake edge hill,

My kamikaze mission to commute to work on two wheels.

She passed me in the aisle, her hair was a plain light gold

And I tried to remember where I had seen that colour before and

If I had a bell on my old bike I could cannibalize

To beat the cops and a ticket.

Why do these questions keep rolling into my head

What ifs and maybes, possibilities and trajectories

Simple suspicions of physical joy, where do they come

Even as the great wipeouts of past rides and falls

Rush back like the latest breaking news on CNN

Once you learn how to ride a bicycle

You never forget.


Author: William J. Gibson

62 year old - writer/photographer Canadian, survived open heart surgery, received kidney transplant, sometimes dour, sometimes amusing, over six feet in height, severely follicle challemged

One thought on “Old poem: “Cycling””

  1. I really like this poem. Great imagery. Suggestions: Did I have a bell on my old bike I could cannibalize

    Simple suspicions of physical joy, from where do they come

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