She was in white, from helmet to toe
Cycling gear at first glance, yet her shorts
Showed her skin neither pale or tan in style
Through a mesh stripe down the side.
The white bandana around her head
And the clacking shoes in an unsteady gate
Made me think she was trying out biking
With a statement of color for the escape
From her black outfits and a life in the city.
She had a coach who had guided her thus
Jovial, professional, not suitor or lover
Then I saw her again, in white, more steady
Riding her own pace precise, the chaperone gone
I could not tell if she were heading out or heading home
It was a proper ride of distance and hills either way
The last time I saw her the white jacket and shorts
Had a brown stripe on the back, and the white bandana
Was covering her nose and face speckled with mud
In the sky more rain was to come and then I knew
She was determined, white kit or not, to ride and
I felt shame for sitting in my car, out from the city.