The close call

CloseCall Artwork

You see a line of cyclists
On the road ahead of you
Annoyed to touch your brakes
They are taking too much space
They have no right to ride like that
A pack
A gang
Rolling through intersections
When you have to stop
Why don't they stay
Inside the white line
That marks the lane
That was built just for them?
Wont they let you pass?
Shift over?
Get out of the way?
Who do they think they are?
Squeezed into that god-awful Lycra
Lance Armstrong?

You'll show them
Throttle up
Swing wide
Tires bark
Engine screams
Cut back
Onto the shoulder
Jam the brake
Spray gravel everywhere

In your rear-view mirror
You see their coordinated line
They howl
Red faced
Swing their arms
You laugh

Who do they think they are?

I can answer for one

I am Stephen
I am 48
I am a husband, a father, a grandfather
I am a business owner, employer, taxpayer, contributor
I am an artist, a writer, poet, communicator,
With dreams for my future

I am a cyclist

I try to put myself in your shoes
To understand what led you
To make a split-second choice
That could have ended
With my death

I can only shake my head
And hope to never
Cross your path again

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