Death on our Roads

[wystan1000]

Edit 1

For cyclists, the threat of death is all-too real:
people make it all the time.

For instance, how we ask for it without a helmet
and when we’re told that surgeons call us “donors.”

One Sunday, 3am, this cop pursued me through three reds
round empty streets I know like country lanes.
He warned this late, some drunk would run me down.

Another one snapped: “Halt!” as I tried nosing round
a long, stopped truck of beams.
“A bit of common sense,” he said
“Or else you’ll end up under it.”

And so the cabby, apoplectic
that my junction turn was tighter than his cab’s
must win some prize for being actualised.
“I hope you die,” he snarled.
One day I will.

Original

For cyclists on our roads, the threat of death is all-too real:
people make it all the time.
Like how we ask for it without a helmet and
when the clown says how the surgeons call us “donors.”

One 3am, this cop pursued me through three reds
on empty City streets I know like lanes:
He said, this late, a drunk would run me down
if I got by with just my eyes and ears.

Another one, last midnight, shouted: “halt!”
as I tried nosing round a long, stopped truck
of steel bound for Molloch’s next erection.
“A bit of common sense” he said
“...or you'll go under it.”
“Like that?” I snapped, “comply or die?”

Freud said, “Every fear contains a wish.”
And so the cabbie raging at my U-turn tighter
than his cab’s must win some prize for
being actualised:
“I hope you die!"