Dirt Song by Jeremy Bey

We gather in the chill of morning,

in fog backlit by the sun.

Some test tires, checking pressure,

others clean crust from their chains.

 

Up, through fragrant cedar.

Further up, aspen leaves

chase the trail in gold.

Foreheads slick with sweat,

heads hung like dogs,

bulging calves turn pedals;

our cadence is one.

 

Breaking through pines,

we reach the top.

Thunder cracks, and we dive

back into trees

cackling like crows.

Flying back down the trail,

our tires sing in the dirt.

 

Fingers and hands aching,

drawn to coolers and dry clothes.

The cracking of cans

and clinking of glass

sound the ending of day.

The warmth and light of fire

lends life to new plans.

Higher, faster, further:

the promise of tomorrow.

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Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

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