More miles on her than the car
that sits idle, collecting water marks
against the brick wall,
watching the well-oiled machine
take to her next destination.
The chainrings and spokes
have left their marks
on
her legs,
in
her legs,
through
her legs,
where the muscles curve
bulging around hips
and knees
like overfilled water balloons
waiting to burst,
you can see it in the dimples
of her thighs,
powerful. colorful.
her skeleton drapes
over the frame
like a wilted cloak,
both suffering on long roads
and wind that bites —
tired from the endurance
required to survive,
to make it through another day,
another mile.
leaned against walls,
drive-side out,
panting,
wiping sweat and frustration
and exhaustion
and creaky parts away,
wiping the pain away —
her hips,
the steering wheel,
waiting.
