By John Delaney
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.
This is the thrill you once got
breezing downhill at nine or ten
on your trusted Schwinn, embracing
a freedom that wouldn’t last—
but now it does, or seems to,
as if all life’s pedaling uphill
has discharged to you. Hold fast.
Copright 2021 Delaney