Last night I performed this at a poetry slam. It made people laugh, I like it when I can make people laugh.
Why must you tie me to this bicycle of loneliness?
Every day you bind my hands to the handlebars and my feet to the peddles and push me out the gate.
you say: don’t come back until dinner time.
I say: but why must you push me away like this, I’ll do as you ask me, please?
But usually by this time I’m going quite fast, as our street is on a hill,
and you can’t hear me anymore,
and I must concentrate on not hitting parked cars and children.
I have no choice but to ride the cycle paths of Canberra
never stopping, never pausing.
I cannot take my hands from the frame to wave at other cyclists because you have bound them there.
I cannot stop to help the pretty girl with the flat tyre because you have fixed my feet to the peddles.
I cannot pause for long enough to talk to anyone, because if I slow I will loose my balance and fall.
You say that love is about sacrifices, and about being content with what you have.
I do not even have you most of the time.
All I have is a bicycle
All that I can do is ride and ride until I know it is time,
and you will be waiting there for me by the open gate as I wobble up the drive
and you catch me and unbind me just before I come to a fatal, wobbly, stop.
This poem is not a metaphor, it is a bicycle.