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.