The crisp autumn air seeps into my skin as I zip through the park
I could never negotiate riding bicycles when I was young
As I ignore the pain shooting through barely used muscles in my legs,
I breathe in a faint scent of grass and dog, fresh, new
For once in my life I don't think to check the quickly passing time
My thoughts alternate between two concepts, one being keeping my balance
It is only when I can finally be alone that I have my life in balance
Wandering the city, hungry and alone, taking respite in any old park
Compact London quarters, I sweat and dread the passing of time
Only now do I understand what it is to feel both old and young
And only now do I feel like I have a chance to start off new
Not teetering between acceptable and wrong, standing on shaky legs
There are little things I miss about him -- his laugh, the sturdiness of his legs
He is his most confident on a bicycle, cutting through seats, a study in balance
Our conversations are disparate but friendly, hours spent forgetting what's new
I wonder how he'd take London's lack of leaves as autumn corrodes Hyde Park
I wonder about a lot of things, a future as murky as this new London, still young
A snag in my pedaling, I've lost my footing -- why does learning have to take time?
No, I haven't seen the Tower, nor the Changing of The Guards -- at least not this time
I don't know if I could keep up with the crowd, really, not with these short legs
Why am I so lethargic all the time? They say youth is wasted on the young
I am the biggest waste, delusions of grandeur between thoughts of my bank balance
Or the status of my course work, or lamenting on why I cannot parallel park
I fall into the same patterns -- no matter if the atmosphere is new
It's been a week since Eleanor arrived at work, making me no longer new
She fretted, knotted with nerves, but I told her she would learn with time
When we lunched she raved about her new home, how Bath has a riverside park
I envy how she can bike for miles without crying, the sculpted nature of her legs
And she is so much older than me life-wise, work and play keeping perfect balance
In America, university is the perfect way to stay and be considered young
Near head on collisions, the risk-junkie speed demons can tell I am young
The neon sign strung round my neck, "can't you tell I'm new?"
In sync with the hipsters and school children, protest pedals to regain balance
From Hyde to Green, no man's land, different rules when it comes to time
My skirt's too short. I don't own tights. Acutely aware of pale, flabby legs
I don't remember the last time I felt unguarded in public, in the park
The machine of London fails to balance the deficit of old with the influx of young
I find sanctuary in the theater, in the park, in the anonymity of what's new
As I long to slow down the passing of time, the dread of home I feel in my legs.
