Laguna

Accelerating. 

At the turn you skidded wildly, but survived with a smirk. 

We pedalled on until the rocks and sea. 

Fourteen days and nights in Tito’s former gaff - 

a thirteenth century house, full of paintings. 

Hired a couple of bikes, and headed up the coast

- sea and pine in ears, eyes, nostrils. 

Pulled up at the security gates of a Naturist Resort. 

Beyond the barriers, Germans shuffled around in flip flops. 

The heat, pure, dazzling – bad for private parts. 

Still private when exposed to hard sun? 

Chuckling at the prospect, secure in our clothes, 

we mounted our bikes and pushed up the long hot road, 

bracken either side. 

Turning back towards the peninsular, 

we pushed and swerved and swore until we reached the house. 

I kicked down the bike stand,
and fiddled with a key. 

Inside, cool thirteenth century gloom - and paintings, now familiar. 

We glugged down water urgently, and collapsed onto wooden chairs. 

Lunch: crusty bread, cheese and endless water.

Out into the sun again.

Bike stands kicked back with a click. Off moving, 

this time to the South, passing groups and touts - 

the chemical wafts of suntan lotion fading to pine and sea.

At the top of a perfumed outcrop, surrounded by waves,

I sat in the shade; you climbed the rocks. 

On again, pushing hard, upwards, 

away from hotels, towards buzzing glades. 

Hard and upwards to the top of the road.

A moment of bliss as the pedaling ceases. 

Land and sea spill out before us. 

Slowly at first, rolling, quickening; 

crickets constant, trees blur. 

At full speed now, wind in hair and eyes. 

You brake too hard/ skid dangerously, flop this way and that. 

I thought you would flip. A high speed slow-mo horror. 

I watched, hands tight. 

You stabilised and careered onwards, 

downwards, in a straight, untroubled line. 

At the bottom, a sparkling laguna. Blue, deep. 

We pulled up and raised our phones with narrowing eyes. 

You smirked at my horror, and sought out a plastic table. 

I locked up the bikes. 

A waiter presented us with two tinkling drinks – heaven doesn’t come close. 

We stared out and said nothing.