I stood flattening the grass
with my brown shoebottoms.
I shifted from left to right & back
as if I were pedaling.
Nothing changed in the landscape;
no dog nosed by, no one
arrived who might notice
I was a cyclist, a most secret cyclist –
wind in my hair, an unsung wind
that obfuscates movement.
I trundled forth, discreet in my target,
nodding at trees, mind on the track.
The world was suave & played along
until I hit a treacherous stretch
not far from the finish
& there was no fooling
when the handlebars flew
off in my hands