Motivation
Dying embers, pots and pans
Piled high on sink and floor
Yule-time log has lost its lure
Belly stretched
Packed tight with food and drink
He rolls from bed to brink
Down the stairs
Safety denied
His way is littered with children’s toys
Sighting a half-inflated balloon
He gives a painful roar, feeling
Like a bloated gas-filled boar
In kitchen, fry sizzling on the pan
No! no! he cries, with tummy churning
“I’ve had my fill”
Making for some pills to cure his ills
A voice speaks out inside his head
You fool, your bike is waiting in the outside shed
In nightwear and slippers new
He shuffles out,
The bike to view
He graces it with Garmin, lights and all
Then goes
And dons his cycling clothes
Some feeble attempts, the pedals turned
A page he takes from the drunkard’s notes
One rev at a time becomes his goal
In rhythmic motion he returns
Grinning wide and satisfied
Tomorrow I’ll repeat the ride.
Tom Ryan
You must be logged in to post a comment.