Backpedal Lives

You are pedaling a bike through the loose sand,

buttoned shirt clung to your back from the sweat

with a necktie to prevent you from getting a second wind.

The loving sun relentlessly punishes your drying skin.

And the card in the back spoke fell away long ago,

but you didn't notice because of the awful plastic seat

that some idiot cruelly manufactured in haste.

But you "soldier" along the slope of the dune anyway,

only to fall over when your laces catch in the chain.

In the end, you can't even untangle yourself.

You have to ask, Why am I still trying so hard to go nowhere?

And I will wonder in frustration from this day forth

why you even chose such monotony in the first place.