lyrics
She pumps the bike hard at road’s edge-
self-powered, wind-washed, free;
her sleek muscled, sweat oiled arms
melded with tubular steel.
The high September sun is hard
against her, all along the dank canal.
The asphalt ends, turns to gravel,
then dirt; tires sink in the sand.
Long, strong strides bounce a silver chain
against her white throat and when she blinks,
quicksilver flashes, then a sly, dark smile
and brusque words aimed straight
where need lies naked.
Once, she suddenly swung round: her floral-
patterned dress clung tight to her hips.
But come September, watch her walk,
solitary, down that broken pavement, away.
And still I awaken, deep in black hours, watch
her ghostly face turn, fade at last into sleep.
Long disappeared, that dark liquid smile,
and her absence now is an ache in the throat.
She pumps the bike hard at road’s edge.
The high September sun is hard against her
Her sweat oiled arms melded with tubular steel.
At ride’s end – unwound, at rest.
credits
from
The Buzz 2013,
released November 11, 2013
Dave Worrell’s first chapbook titled “We Who Were Bound” was published in August 2012 by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. His poems have appeared in U.S. 1 Worksheets, Mad Poets Review, Exit 13, Wild River Review, Fox Chase Review and Adanna. He has performed his music-backed poems at Chris’ Jazz Café inPhiladelphia and The Cornelia Street Café in New York.
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