poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “bicycle”

out of time

flashing back to sixty-nine
miracle mets ruining my summer
and the ensuing autumn
forever stamped as an asterisk
in my playbook

in november I received
a green single-speed schwinn
for my birthday
but was forced to postpone
its maiden voyage
until the late february thaw

it was a long and lonely winter
(that much I remember)
and I was afraid
even then
that I was going to run out of time

how little did I know

december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve

five o’clock pass

shifting down to high speed
he pushes the pedals
down down down
feeling the tension inside
thighs and calves and IT bands
grimacing and racing
approaching the rail yard

the freight train slows to a crawl
the conductor waving
outside the window
the biker stretching out one hand
high into the air
thank you thank you thank you

august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Crimson and Me

I rode my new bike called Crimson
down the Southern route
of the Urban Trail.
I soon met a squad car inching toward me;
two of its wheels on the path
and two on the grass.

The officer flinched his finger and thumb
directly at me with a smile.
I just stared at him in passing,
confused like a dog
sorting out a strange animal
for the first time.

As I carried on I pondered
changing into my red cape
and saving the day
by single-handedly
apprehending the villain
who lurked somewhere in the brush.

july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


i road my bike around the city
because i had nothing better
to do. i freed my mind and told
myself i could do this
even at my advanced age.
getting out of the valley was a bitch
but i shifted into the lowest gear
and pretended i was walking
down a flattened hill.
by the time i reached the river
i gave my bicycle to a little boy
and took a taxi home.

june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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