what kind of work
allows you to pack up,
swim your way through the air,
and live as an ex-pat
for two months?

i can dream, can’t i?
instead i watch
as bills pile up, as
we take our daughters’ allowance
to go for a family outing,
and i regret
the long drives,
the friendly plane ride,
and every penny that we don’t have.

i wish my pedals would work,
would bend back the money
i should be saving on gas,
the money lost on a new battery,
a dishwasher,
food for our table.

i wish
that the energy i burn
in twenty-six miles
would be enough to transfer
to everything i’ve ever wanted.

but the hills?
they are steep,
miles long,
and keep popping up.