biking home

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I’m wearing a short dress
And I’m riding a bike
Whistles from boys
Whistles from men.

It’s late July but feels like September
The corn leaves wave from the garden
Lilting air
Lazy orange cat.

Its four in the afternoon
A transitory time of day
I just got off work
And I’m riding a bike

My hair falls in bouncy waves
On shoulders more tanned than arms
Sprinkler on every dead lawn
My hesitantly hopeful neighbours.

I will be home soon
But first a hill and then a fall
I’m wearing a short dress
And my legs are pedalling hard.

 

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