Knob Magazine

‘Twas an indian summer,
I was laying in bed.
Reminders of last night
pounded my head.

A day left un-scheduled,
no real work to do;
but my tire was flat
and it was hours past noon.

Piles of plates
sat in my sink
with glasses still damp
of the night’s merry drink.

The woods they did sing
but the call was so frail,
that a small bit of maintenance
might keep me off the trail.

(The shower needs scrubbing,
the dog needs a stroll,
the couch looks so comfy,
I should go to the store.)

But i flew up the mountain.
I coughed from my gut.
Brown leaf under tire
and low autumn sun.

Being at one
with world and bike,
the conjunction of which
could take me anywhere i like.

Each stroke of my pedals
on that sweet after-morn’,
became reason enough
to walk out the door.