Thighs of lycra, calves of steel,
How could anyone refute your appeal?
You rule the road, the pavements too,
The highway code not applying to you!
Running red lights, with rebellious glee,
So fearless, so powerful, so classless and free!
Ears plugged with headphones, glancing down at your phone,
Firing expletives at drivers, despair in your tone.
Mounting the pavement alongside pedestrian fools,
An outlaw like you can’t be tied down by rules!
Ringing your bell, so they’ll jump out of your way,
The cyclist reigning supreme, come what may!
Never mere followers of what society dictates,
Cyclists are Masters of their own fates…
Lights are for conformists, not cool kids like you,
You don’t associate with the helmeted hi-viz-wearing crew!
Racing down tow-paths, such speed and such power,
A law unto yourselves as the dog-walkers cower.
Whizzing three-abreast along country lanes,
Dodging car and tractor alike for your own dare-devil gains.
We all live in awe of your prowess and vigour,
Cycling no-hands with such macho rigour!
I struggle to control the urge your presence evokes,
(The desire to ram a big stick right through your spokes…)