Ballad of the Bicycle

Frida Berg writes a love poem to her bicycle.

see those cars honking at me

breathing in their jealousy

watching my smooth wheels run round run round

all they can do is watch while my pedals bounce up and down

so they push their automated button and speed away with simulated speed

leaving a cloud of pollution to suffocate me

but my lungs are strong I’ve been doing this for long

I just flip him one and pedal on

me and my bike we can go places

go wherever we desire

but the city doesn’t seem to want our movement, it holds us down with whatever forces it can fathom

cars and their inevitable reeking and speeding, potholes and glass glass glass everywhere, rain that soaks us to the bone, busses and trucks (wait why am I sharing a lane with a truck have you no idea of proportions) shouting old men (“pedestrian priority!”) and the fear

dread and fear, always the echo of someone who was hit, watching those blue blinking lights as a reminder of our soft and destructible bodies

where is my shield? where is my armour? is this hi-vis alien puke yellow the best we get?

I’m just exercising my right to mobility

to reclaim the streets from those defiling bastards

policing bodies into underground compartments, compressed in a tin just to move

or to be moved. is that my only option

no way I deny this life of a mole in a hole

people on the streets people on the wheels

the bell has rung out, the time has come

a laidback ride or the rush of lightning

our revolution moves with multiple speeds

driven by the thrill of the wheel

the force of muscle

and the power of our minds

Illustration by Jacob Cardwell