POEM: this two-wheeled life

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this two-wheeled life

all I could think about
as I sucked in diesel fumes
on 80 East was how much
I’d rather be riding my bike

how it was time to sever
the steel shackles
of my automotive life
to take to two wheels

as my creed, my gospel
my response to every
yelled curse and flung
container of french fries

I would yell “you first!”
when told to get off the road
would carry a lance
to joust with those

who referred to me by its name
and like Quixote before me
I would tilt – not at windmills,
but at the ceaseless turning

of the four-wheeled apocalypse
because there are more kinds of freedom
than choosing the radio station
and more kinds of individuality

than spinning rims and fuzzy dice
I would recapture
that nearly forgotten thrill
of being my own master

not a slave to the poisoners
of the Gulf, the savage
inequality of fossil fuels
they are better returned

to their undersea beds
to lie and sleep
to be forgotten as we zoom
and glide through this two-wheeled life