Piece Written and Read at Beat Night 6-19-14: Post Hibernation April Bikeride

 The first featured reader read something 

mentioning "Rocky". 

That was all I needed to hear. 

This is the result.
There have been very minor edits.

Post Hibernation April Bikeride

Winter &

            Excuses

Have left me

at my drinking weight

& aching

But I ride anyway;

Advised to

go easy

by the well-meaning,

it’s not a whole lie

to say I’ll Try;

But I ride

            &

            Things ache

& now there’s

a big

            damned

                        hill

&halfway up

            my lost condition

pounds my pulse in my

            temples

&as I wobble

            &sweat

a 75 year old man

            passes me

                        unwinded

with “On Your Left”;

My internal dialogue

            takes the form of some medieval fantasy drama

            Like I’m on an epic

                        quest;

My mind releases the Phantom Advisor,

            the on-board critic

                        and maker of logical excuses;

He says

            “There’s no shame in surrender”

            I reply

            “There’s no

glory

in it, either!”

The hilltop

is hundreds

of

yards

            ahead

& I set my eyes on it

banning from my head

the idea of rest

until I’m past the

            crest;

My pulse

            cold sweat

            & ragged breath

Weave into the rhythm of

burning legs

            (the bad one going

                        numb)

& a song congeals,

a music to inspire.

            heard clearly in my

                        head:

The Theme From Rocky;

But I can’t just

cheer myself on;

Some part of my psyche

            rewrites the words:

Gonna Die Now,

Gonna Die Now;

& The beat is PERFECT

& the crest is nearer

& had I the breath I’d sing along out loud;

& my heart is exerts enough

            force

to make a vein in my

            lower lip

                        JUMP,

an upside down

            Bugsy Siegel tic;

And the Phantom Advisor,

whose advise is always
“You can’t”

Says

“You ARE

            gonna die

                        now!

Your brain flooded and wiped away

            by the firehouse PSI

                        of an aneurysm,

or your heart

            popped

            or crushed

                        or just

stopped.

And you’ll be found

            here

                        at the side of the road,

Fat,

            Pathetic,

                        And Dead.

And the EMTs are all gonna laugh at you!”

& I tell that hateful voice

“If I’m dead I won’t care!

And if this little hill

            kills me

Then I deserve

            to die!”

And I crest the hill.

            The brass in the Rocky Theme

            blare its last note.

I let myself coast

            gravity my engine for a while;

My heart eases,

and breath slows,

And though I’ve nothing extra for a victory cry

I revel in the cavernous silence in my mind,

as a certain voice

says not

a fucking thing.

Chris Walters

June 19, 2014