Weekend Warrior
I cycled to Hawthorne before the dawn,
Saw a deer on Taxter Road leading a fawn.
It’s hard to be a weekend warrior, under Damocles sword.
I hadn’t slept well in ages; a peace I could not afford.
I reached a field of the kids little League.
Waited for the train, too pumped for fatigue.
I hung the bike from the rack overhead.
I wished I could nap, but thoughts swirled instead.
The train passed by lakes of Croton Falls,
At Ten Mile River I heard a bird’s calls
At Wassaic, calmed down on Deep Hollow Road,
By purple rhododendrons, a little stream flowed.
I cycled due west, for an outdoor transfusion.
Wethersfield estate really existed, not an illusion.
Up its hill I pedaled, like a knight on a quest,
But the statues of centaurs looked unimpressed.
Fountains flowed and flowers bloomed bright,
Well-dressed couples in the courtyards admired the sight.
More statues, eagles and children and men
Could have spent more time, but if not now, when?
I took Schaefer Road, counted side roads till the fourth.
Then zoomed on the asphalt, on Smithfield Road north.
But what goes down must go up, to escape a valley you climb,
Though conversely what goes up must descend in time.
[chorus]
When the roads are quiet, and above hawks play.
Down I fly too, a harried bird of prey.
Fields spread wide, like a golden sea,
New places to explore, calling to me.
Skipped Salisbury, entered Sharon, took highway 41.
To Amenia and Hitchcock Corners’, a load of fun
Down one last hill, was it me who gave a shout?
Stood on my pedals, like a kid let out.
[end]
Back in Wassaic, out drained the ninja esthetic.
Now back to my life, so sad and pathetic
Leaned back on the platform, sank into a doze.
Haven’t slept like that in ages, haven’t found such repose.
Copyright ©
Gideon Oknin
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