A foretaste of the afterlife, it has to do
with weightlessness, with balance at great
speed, unfettered by flesh as you ghost
along, breezing down the avenue, light
as the windblown leaves dancing
along the curb. This pneumatic delight, flying
your soul’s kite, hair streaming back,
sleek as wing feathers. We lift our feet
from the ground, crank the pedals, the diamond-flash
of spokes and twirling wheels coaxing
the spinning chakras humming along our spine.
Lean left. Lean right. Steel tubes, fork,
and handlebars necessary extensions of our otherwise
attenuated anatomy. Weightless on a cushion
of air, pedals whirling, chain rings twirling, awakening
this giddy exhilaration, this lesson in levitation,
the threads of our everyday garments unraveling
in the wind. Where we get to when
we ride is perhaps a destination in this world
but the highway is mostly within.
"The Secret History of Bicycling" is published here with kind permisson of the author.
The ALL Review is pleased to present our How to Live series, poems chosen to help readers navigate these difficult and rapidly changing times.
