Hard rain hits my head
puffing, sweating, wrapped in nylon
I cross a land of a thousand puddles
Driving on the fragile rimways between.
All frowned, I curse the grand sadist
above or below; does it matter?

This storm was designed and implemented
just for me: a lone and tired rider
It started when I left my home,
on a dry day, the sun shining
and, I am sure, it will continue
up until I reach my destination

Is it the rain that makes the victory
of each arrival so exhilaratingly sweet?
Is this part of the design, the grand scheme
that pulls my thread and leads my way?
Can the wheels of torture be those of fortune?

Pondering those thoughts, I one day stopped on an isle
among deep waterholes bombarded by His aquatic wrath
One hand resting in the belly pocket of my jacket
The middle finger of the other taunting the thunder
A splitting headache hit me; was it my punishment?
For being such an ungrateful sinner - an atheist arse?

Inside my trusty bum bag I keep an aspirin
just in case of such a predicament
Long time ago I thought of this possibility
As I unwrap it, the rim gives way
balance lost, tired trembling hands have no chance
It rolls and drops, slow-motion ground bounce and
in it goes - a mouth, just the right size, swallows it
Ripples of contentment?

Protesting quadriceps lift me back to my illusion
of balance, verticality and political correctness
Silently, almost hiding, I pedal on, puddle crossing
As I get further and further away, I console myself
at the thought that the waterhole fallen aspirin
just dissolved into a mighty swarm of salicylates
and that some ailing worm or other bug, of His creation,
may just get lucky today; unlike a certain other...

Fotios, 7 June 2007