Rectus, vastus, quadriceps.
Sartorius – it’s not what you wear,
Pectinus – or the jams you make,
Biceps femoris – or the lengths you’ll go,
but head and shoulders, knees and toes –
hands and fingers, legs and lips,
it’s where you’ll take me.
Badass gams, and bountiful buttocks,
glutes of power, you get me there.
Gorgeous gastrocnemius, you’ve gone
square with the ups and downs
of revolutions, but you get me there.
Oh, legs, you brutes. It’s you who does it –
around and around, like the wheels on a bus,
you carry weight like no other – not
this body (big, not small,) nor
this bike (big, not small,)
nor the cargo on it. Your box
of belongings is borne
up and down hills, the length
of this town, for a twenty-mile
I owe you, my muscles and bones,
ye body of mine and maker of groans.
I’ll buy you new tires, and tighten
those brakes. If I’m smart, I’ll
even stretch out those shakes.
I’m long past when should becomes must,
when want is a need, and physical therapy
is discussed. I know I should stretch,
gentle tension applied, in morning and night,
and pre-and post-ride.
The wonder and joy of a ride in the wind,
for your vim and your zip, I’ll make you a deal.
Over that hill and past the asphalt:
get me there, and I promise you this:
a long hot bath, an abundance of salts!
I’m a few days behind, as life got in the way, but I’ll try and catch up. Na/GloPoWriMo Day Sixteen asked for a poem of praise. It just so happened that I biked 20 miles on the 16th, which is a lot for me right now. As we ride into summer, a 20-mile day will be routine, but long rides are a rarity between November and May. So here’s to my legs (and my bike) which go to extraordinary lengths, and I don’t give them half the love they deserve.