Rider’s block

By Vanessa Frank

My wrists feel weird.

I didn’t sleep well.

The bra I like is dirty.

There’s laundry to do.

I have somewhere to be later

and my bangs will be sweaty.

Too many people.

Not enough people.

What if I get hurt?

I should really carry a pelvic binder on trails like that.

I don’t know this route.

I might get lost

or murdered

or worse-

perceived.

If the ride is too big

and my bag is too small

I would run out of snacks.

Sometimes I can’t open my bike lock.

Everyone will watch me struggle.

Or something will break

and everyone will watch me,

or kindly ask to help.

I’d have to say no

to prove myself.

Or yes,

because I don’t know enough.

I fumble with wrenches

like they’re glowing hot.

Such foreign bodies

to uncertain hands.

I’d have trouble getting the back wheel out.

I know it.

It’s always the back wheel.

Somehow I bleed

every time I try.

I’m not very fast.

Everyone would see that I’m weak.

That I don’t ride as far as they do.

As much as I should.

I’ll have to convince myself

that I’m good enough

as I am.

A tiresome conversation

for a task so simple.

I think that today 

I am not good enough.

But perhaps 

if I am patient, gentle, kind

I could be brave enough.