June 4, 2024

on Bluff Road

The day’s nemesis: a shadeless incline testing the limits of my calves. I 
battle the pedals as the bully at the pulpit of my heart roars with taunts. 
I am full of want—to master the grade at my heels, to zip straight to the largest
piece of pie smothering the panoramic plate at the top, return home possessed 
with the superlatives of fitness. But we all know what happens next—gravity’s
unambiguous pull, resistance giving up the ghost—and soon I am a pulpy mess 
of panting. It takes forever to get back, and later that night, I dream 
in wheels, my mind centripetal as it follows the circuits of every ride faltered.
But the morning returns, amnesiac. Whatever happened is behind me, save 
the grease marks, like dusky souvenirs, or a orbit of old stars.