The Cyclist

On driving home last night, I saw someone riding their bike, dressed entirely in black clothing, with no lights, on the wrong side of the road, towards oncoming traffic. I was inspired to write the following poem.

Riding at night, no lights, dressed in black, 
Riding like a fucking maniac. 
Rider thinks they’re really skilled. 
Just a matter of time, until they’re killed. 
 
Jumping all and any red light,  
Giving pedestrians a terrible fright. 
But Jeremy Vine, and his like, 
Probably think this is alright. 
 
Riding on pavements, furious and fast, 
You can tell their life won’t last.  
They film every time they ride, 
Hoping to capture the moment they died. 
 
Using their phones, as they hurtle along, 
They don’t realise, this is wrong. 
Yet when Mikey sees drivers on the phone, 
He moans until the cows come home. 
 
The law may, and often doth say,  
Cars and lorries must give way, 
But think of the sacrifice, you must give, 
By slowing, being considerate, in order to live. 
 
There’s no protection from your Lycra tights, 
When you’re under their wheels, screaming your rights. 
Stop trying to get people sacked, 
Just because of skills they lacked. 
 
Don’t be selfish, don’t report every mistake, 
Else you’ll look like a dick, for goodness sake. 
Share the road, consider the others, 
It’s not just yours, my dear bike lovers. 

©David E. Gates – 2024

For more poems, check out Realm of Rhyme and my other anthologies, First Words and Unzipped – The Mind of a Madman.