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She’s elegant, she’s fast, she’s a beautiful ride,
When I mount her, saddle up, I feel alive,
how fast we ride, is for me to decide,
Oh Beatrix, you are the girl for me,
together rain, sleet or snow, never apart,

Our bond forged from many battles,
In the war between drivers and cyclists,
Arrogant, menacing drivers, clad in iron,
that give not a single f*ck, to driving safely,
until they find us, beneath their wheel,
our bodies mangled, our bones pulverised,

on the road; I am not human to them,
they see us not as two beings living as one,
for they see not her soul, nor mine,
I am a bloody cyclist, and her just a bike,
an obstacle, objects, in their way,

disobeying the code, zero enforcement,
for them, worst case scenario,
a short ban from driving, community service, a fine,
For their negligence, our lives cease and theirs carry on,

when faced with their shit, I don’t fall in line,
sympathetic nervous and adrenal-cortical systems triggered,
fight or flight, I fight back,

cycling down university avenue, he pulls out from upper crescent,
not anticipating my speed, he hits me in the side,
fight or flight, I try to hold myself back,
but he shouts abuse at me, blames me for his carelessness,
“f*ck this”, I think to myself, as I climb on his bonnet and kick his windscreen in,
paranoid for a week, thinking every peeler I seen was after me,
no charges yet, probably driving untaxed and uninsured,

This is starting to sound like a confession, I hope we have no peelers in the audience,
Speaking of which, that pig bastard who served me with a community resolution notice,
For punching a car, driven by a dunderhead, who hit me from behind,
Surely the punishment he served was enough,
when he sped ahead, got out of his car and pushed me from my bike,
that was attempted fucking murder, I could have died, what’s his punishment,
a Community Resolution Notice too, f*ck you,
 I can’t say I’m surprised, ACAB you pig-fucking wank,

Taxi drivers, the bane of my existence,
Impatient, self-righteous, roadhogs,
Self-deluded into believing they own the roads,
Number one culprit of close-passes and illegally sounding their horn,
Triggering a release of adrenaline, fight or flight, I always fight,
From cycle-lane standoffs, to kicking their cars when they pass close,

But nothing fills me with more joy, than when they close-pass overtake…
…only for them to be stuck at red lights a few seconds ahead,
And I filter by to the ASL, signalling (wanker signal) what I think of them,
So that when the lights go green, I can take primary position,
Set of as slow as I can go, to let them know, that I won’t let them f*ck with me,

Sure, not all drivers are cunts, some drive with care,
not all cyclists are cunts either, some cycle safely,
But when we f*ck up, you might have a wee dent,
Nothing your insurance can’t cover, if you have it,
If your vehicle is taxed, and insured, no need to worry,
But for us, when you f*ck up, our lives are on the line,

So, drivers, please; regardless of how you see a person cycle,
Remember, you are in a tank, we can do you no harm,
Please remember that to overtake,
Your car must move fully into the adjacent lane, not half-way between,
Don’t beep at us, it’s dangerous, it does more harm than good,
If we signal to change lanes, please give us time to transition,
Please don’t accelerate,
Don’t park in our cycle lanes, and don’t get pissy if we don’t use them,
they aren’t mandatory, and some are abysmal,
our usage of them comes down to personal safety,
read the highway code, and see for yourself,
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Submitted by PWRBTTM_0X45 on March 08, 2021

3:11 min read

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    "War" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 17 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/62974/war>.

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