Tonight I pedalled across town on my trike, on my way to a poetry slam, big fat snowflakes drifting down softly.
It would almost be romantic if it wasn’t MID APRIL.
And then there was some frigging idiot who nearly killed me.
Potholes and stones
Won’t break my bones
But the words you speak on your mobile phone
distracting, as you plough on in to the night
looking straight through my signal and lights
Those words, and your massive Dodge truck
Driven as if you don’t give a fuck
Those are the things that will crush me.