Up the hill


Slick pavements,
Water dappled cars.
Air heavy as the blacked sky.
But, it’s not raining. Yet.
Snippets of swoosh, spish of
Six am traffic,
And Kings of Leon play
In a Cold Desert.
This time, I’m faster, further.
But the hill feels steeper.
Burning lungs, knee twinge,
and embarrassment,
As an old man cycles past me.


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