Weiler

by Teresa Leone

As in Rot, chasing me past the cemetery
that I often pass alone,
wondering
if I’m still alive.

The Rot answers the question
as it jumps at my heels.

I pedal faster
between death and life,
down hills I usually brake on,
through potholes I always avoid,
rising from my seat to reduce the shock
of what lies beneath and
of what lies ahead.

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