Old and New

Noon and the shadows are long
late in the year
I eat my food quickly, prepare
for a cold bike ride
in the cold fresh air, wind
rushing past my head
the chest-blast as I skim
over tarmac:  freedom
of the machine growling
roaring in transmission
between my legs - solitude
and silence above the
engine, the open road where
danger resides;  Saint Michael
Saint Christopher protect me
from all stupidity
and other people not
using their eyes.  My
other half at a desk
so far away - with me
in spirit as I ride
the cold air, breathe-in
the late September day.
All alone my bike and me.
Old companion.  New ways.

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