hello statbike, my old friend.
i've come to ride on you again.
when the foot pain comes softly creeping -
metatarsals arching and creaking -
but this time you won't get the best of me
you will see:
this time it's sounds of wellness.
in restless nights i bike alone
in the basement of my home.
'neath the halo of fluorescent lamp
turning pedals like a cycle champ,
and my eyes are stabbed by the flash of the teevee light
that split the night
and touched the sound of wellness.
and in the teevee light i saw
ten thousand hours maybe more -
hours in motion without moving,
hours peddling without propelling.
hours cycling on a bike that doesn't move -
what's the use:
it is the sound of wellness.
“fools” say i, “you do not know
metatarsals are your toes.
hear my words that i might teach you:
i'll ride forever and might not reach you,
take good care of appendages -
they are the well of wellness.
and you people bow and pray
to the running god you've made.
still the sign flashed out its warning
in the words that it was forming,
and the sign said
“the sage of the statbike
is staring at the basement walls,
'cause after all,
it is the sound of wellness."
with utmost respect to
sound of silence
by mr paul simon