A Sonnet About Bicycling in Phoenix
We ride our bikes along the city’s streets
Avoiding deadly traffic is the goal,
So riding on a Sunday always beats
Diving and dodging or jumping in a hole
To avoid the Beemers, Porches, Audis, et. al.
Speeding through the grid laid out so well
By planners mapping for those who move at a crawl
Straight north, straight south, straight east, straight west not hell
As a place of destination for folks
Who thought the word Phoenix was a simile
Not a literal version of a joke
About a bird rising from the ashes to flee
From all the loony drivers on the street.
Perhaps it would be best just to retreat.