sometimes there’s a
subtle sense that something
is not quite right
on a slow grind up the hill
I catch an eye catching silver sliver
glint of late September sunshine
reflecting off curly cue strands of steel
sprouting near the bottom bracket
the look
the feel
the sound
of threads stripping
the smell of metal fatigue
7th grade shop class reminiscent
it’s a long walk home
in these shoes with
time to think of
loose balls
crank arm extractors
jerry-rigged Italian BB setups
multi-purpose marine grease
power to weight ratios
and wait
phone rings
caller ID reads J-B WELD
Who is this?
This is it.
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