Four women - side by side
Cycling
Like wheels, turning: Collecting
Leaves and gravel - their lives repeat
Biting air brushes their cheeks
Lacquered hair - glows below the moon’s beam.
A silence sets in - Except for the droning of bicycle lamps
And the pinging of stones’ against spokes.
White plastic bags; rustle in the night wind
The scraping of heels, between stop signs: Breaks their journey
Road works ahead.
Three take the tarmac path - smooth; safe
The other - braves the boulders, dipping down ditches;
Dirt dashes her legs; soaking her socks.
By Belinda Johnston