My Mom Who Rides

My mom who cycles though the park

day after day, racing against the cars,

bikes circles around the runners and walkers

in her path along the greenway through the city.

Day after day, racing against the dark,

leaves fall in red orange yellow under her tires–

gripping the asphalt and spraying road grit,

splashing upward like a unclean fountain,

fanning mud across her back in the shape of a tree

that grows with each pedal stroke churning

with the strength of her legs.

She rides in circles, racing against time

and faster than those half her age

along the greenway through the city,

passing old neighborhoods and schools

she no longer needs for her children.

Yellow orange red keep falling

and she keeps pedaling through time,

ignoring the grit and breathing in crisp air.

My mom’s bike roars like the lion she is,

and you better keep up.

 

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