When she stopped returning my calls,
I felt sad, definitely,
but it went beyond that.

I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do:
if I stalked her neighborhood,
her family would find out,
and that would cause a heap of problems for her
I did not want.
I was so angry and frustrated
and I needed a vent.

I’d been bicycling already,
and it was December, usually the time of year
that cold and snow would make the bike
disappear for a while.

I found that unless the snow was pounding down,
I had to be on the streets, moving from place to place.
Normally, I would bike for transportation.
At this point, I was biking to let the rage escape.

It was fury that fueled me.
Because of my broken heart, I had stopped eating,
so there were very few calories going into my body
for a series of months.
I had little sleep at that time, either.

Still, I would lightning move, sweating away,
borough to borough,
frown to frown,
poem to poem,
just spreading my monotone
all over the place.

Months went by and pounds came off.
It was only when I began to see myself reshape
that my mood began to change
but I remained on the bike plan
for the rest of the year.

It was a very healthy time for me
– physically.