Lynn McGee
BIKING IT OFF
Claritin, caffeine, cannabis — I’m self-medicating
through a breakup, inhaling late-summer musk that rises
from a mud path packed flat in a forest drunk
with the deep-summer saturation of glucose and green,
muffled pop of a tennis ball counter-balanced
by the whack of a cricket bat. I’m wearing
a helmet and my skull heats up, my heart fills, all four
chambers pulling tight as a rowing crew leaving
its long V down a river. I’m coasting
on the inertia of my own mass. I’m a dog with its
head out the car window, heading home, where
a breeze laps my balcony and I stretch out
on a yoga mat, looking up at the racing sky. Low sun
ignites the distant ridge of trees. Air cools fast
but surfaces are still warm, the food chain
in full swing. Birds dive with expert haste. Insects
breed as fast as they can line up sperm packets
and ducts, sometimes midair.