I’m suited up for cycling:
50 SPF sunscreen greasy on my skin,
helmet, spandex shorts with padded crotch,
half-finger mesh gloves, SPD cleated shoes,
wraparound sunglasses, water bottle.
On the tandem, I peddle behind Charlie, matching
his swaying rhythm. Cool morning breeze,
generous pour of sunshine, lush spring green.
I take in random whiffs of something sweet blooming,
of newly tilled earth and the tang of mulch,
of mossy creek water, a dead squirrel festering
in the middle of the road.
Sweat gathers on my upper lip, tickles
behind my knees. I register the flex
of my quads on the down stroke,
grateful for that strength,
grateful to be moving beyond my age.