How often now I wake and feel my age,
and shuffle to the kitchen for my brew,
and listen to my neck, and try to gauge
the quantity of creaks and tweaks. I skew
intention – maybe I should rest today.
Perhaps I’ll take it easy – skip the bike
and yoga too – just read a book and play
at solitaire – that could be what I’d like.

But thirty minutes later something stirs
in me. I figure I can stretch at least.
And bending leads to poses leads to spurs
to pedal, just a little, soon increased
to constitute my customary ride,
and yield delight at how I feel inside.