Bitten, Worn, and Weary - Kathy Figueroa

I thought I was getting
Sort of big and lumpy,
So I hauled out my bike
But the trail was bumpy

And, before I knew it,
I’d taken a bad spill
In a slick, muddy patch
On the side of a hill.

I had put my foot down
To stop the sudden skid,
But it caught on a root
That appeared to be hid.

Abruptly, there I was
Laid out flat on the ground,
And acutely aware
Of a loud buzzing sound.

Mosquitoes! Mosquitoes!!
From the din I could tell
It was like they had rung
Some sort of dinner bell!

They seemed to have converged
From miles and miles around,
Delighted at the big
Tasty meal they’d just found.

Carefully, I got up
From the brush and the dirt
And was thankful only
My shin and pride were hurt.

There were scrapes and bruises
But not a thing had broke,
Neither a tooth nor bone
Or a bicycle spoke.

The buzzing grew louder;
I knew I had to flee
Lest those hungry ‘skitters
Made a meal out of me!

I hobbled and wobbled
Was shaken, scratched, and sore
But picked up my old bike,
Got on, and rode some more.

It seemed like a good plan
To go out on that trail,
But then it ended up
A huge, resounding “FAIL.”

Bitten, worn, and weary,
With more than just one ache,
At long last I got to
The cabin by the lake

Where, if the truth be known,
It was joyous to see
My bike loaded on the
Back of an ATV.

Kathy Figueroa