I rarely ever gripe, complain or fuss
That drivers seem to try to murder us –
'Us' meaning cyclists struggling to avoid
Those hordes of SUVs that they've deployed
To shuttle cell phone users while they chat
And gripe about their bellies getting fat;
'They' meaning folks (from earth or outer space)
Some paranoid delusional nutcase
Insists are those to blame for all mishaps
That fall upon our heads or in our laps.

I'm sure (well... fairly certain) that there's not
Some nationwide subversive covert plot
To take out helpless cyclists one by one,
For malice, self-indulgence or sheer fun.
Conspiracy on that vast scale is tough;
Bad drivers I've observed aren't smart enough
To even pay attention as they drive,
So they and those around them stay alive.
I truly doubt these goobers could be trained
For murder (or safe driving); they're half-brained.

Despite what other cyclists have surmised,
I truly doubt these dolts are organized.
Of course it's likely that there are a few
At times, at least, who'd run down me or you,
For pure perverted pleasure, thrills or spite,
But they're as rare as sleazebag lawyers... Right?
No, I believe each villain acts alone,
Applying lipstick, blabbing on the phone,
Without a trace retained in its dull head
Of laws and cautions learned in Drivers' Ed.

Bad drivers are like fungus, germs or mold;
It doesn't help to chastise, nag or scold.
Although it's not their purposeful intent
To cream some white-haired senior on his 'bent,
That's just abstract distinction when it's you
One's monster SUV's about to strew
In bits of shredded clothing, bone and meat
Across a bike lane or a busy street.
If foul intent or accident's to blame,
The (gory) end result is just the same.

And since it can be argued (and believed)
Most drivers don't repent when they've aggrieved
Some cyclist, forcing him or her to dive
Into a nearby field to stay alive,
Or panic stop by slamming on his brakes,
They don't apologize for their mistakes,
They mostly run for cover (flee the scene –
Behavior that is cowardly and mean),
I think it's only fair that we conclude:
A careless driver's stupid, selfish, rude.

So what if vicious malice isn't meant
When some half-witted goober's time is spent
Behind a steering wheel without a thought
To stay alert and cautious like he ought,
While watching out for walkers, kids and bikes?
The damage caused when some disaster strikes
Is just as harmful whether it was planned
Or executed more or less offhand.
Is ignorance more blissful than intent?
No. Cyclists still get creamed by accident.

When camping out, if rain begins to fall
It matters very little, if at all,
That rain's a purely natural effect,
With no malicious effort to direct
A drenching thundershower to your camp;
It's more than merely likely you'll get damp.
A storm's not driven by a conscious brain,
But you'll still need to deal with driving rain.
And whether rain is random or evoked,
Unless you take precautions you'll get soaked.

Folks, thanks for hanging in as I converse
In lengthy stanzas more verbose than terse,
With parenthetic barbs a bit adverse
I couldn't fight the urge to intersperse,
But here at last – the moral of this verse:
Dumb, inattentive drivers are a curse,
A threat to your good health and to your purse.
Indulging paranoia's not perverse,
If it prevents a fate that's much much worse:
An unplanned trip by ambulance or hearse.

POW Index

Last updated 15.5.2009