Blast From the Past: Pain

Editor’s note: The poem “Pain” by Philip Walter—with art by Jim Harris—originally appeared in Dirt Rag Issue #121, published in May 2006.

I’m racing down
through unknown track
and, I’ll admit,
a bit too fast.
The air is dry,
the soil loose.
Naught on my mind
but rocks and roots.

When suddenly
the turn gets sharper
than it had appeared
from further up.
I try my best
to use the brake,
but the inside line
secured my fate.

I’ve overshot
my tire plowing
attempting to avoid the trees.
But unseen hands lurk in the shadows,
reaching out for tread and feet;
and suddenly I’m on the ground,
quaking as I look about:
I’ve broken nothing, bike nor self,
(lacerations do not count.)

I try to stand,
I’m feeling sick;
still high on adrenaline.
I sit back down, I drink the water,
my limbs stop trembling
my mind goes clear
And the pain comes rushing in.

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