Poetry · Writing

Foggy Ride

Light springs from my handlebars
A bright illuminated cone
Visible in the shifting fog

The only sounds I hear
Are the rhythmic squeak
Of a bearing in need of grease

Or the crunch of sand and gravel
Under the tires
Of a passing car

Up ahead streetlights hang
Glowing like candles viewed
Through bleary, smoke-stung eyes

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