With pedal assist and a throttle,
the hills sit lower and shorter.
I ride farther and bolder than I ever did.
Through the workhouse of the world
I visually dance, and the air parts
as I pass, not as gauntlet but
honor guard in a Tour de France.
When I walk past the adoption cages,
each dog makes a case to be the chosen,
with a bark, a jumping up, some raucous
reason to be recognized and singled out.
No, the bad news hasn’t reached me yet,
though my body’s been preparing for it.
We’ve come a long way from the Pony Express.
Still, the distances have been challenging
to cross, the obstacles to overcome—
childhood, some bruises and broken bones,
