The dishwasher hums with cyclical rhythm
and somewhere your feet are pumping at the same cadence
returning to me.
Water sloshes around the sealed box, cleaning,
and somewhere you are salty with wet, sipping Gater-aid
to get through kilometer eighty.
The kitchen dishes are washing
your pedals are turning
and I am waiting for your salty kisses.
Nice! Great poem, Shaun. I love the ending! 🙂
Thanks, Robin. I appreciate you coming by and taking time to leave a comment.
Thanks, Breanne. I’m glad
Yours will be the first eyes he sees, once across the finish line.
Since his finish line is our garage, and I’m the only one at home, that is undoubtedly true! 😉