Men of Bicycle

with Reka Jellema



The teeth oil clatter
of the bicycle men
gear-head lug-nuts
kitted neon top tubes
lubed and polished saddles
circled,
girdled air on gravel

A rumble of crankset
skeletons arrive in bunches
bodies hunched,
panting rubber gloves
with multi-colored fingers
sucking air in,
spitting it out
clam-skinned
hamstrings clutched

And in the parks
gutter punks
keep an eye
for the bicycle men
swap bed rolls scout box cars
muttered mantras
plumes and ash and footsores
circled,
girdled by path and sign
by steel spoke
averted eyes

All men disguised
as wheel rims
zoetropic dark and thin
chow cold beans
spoon and tin
circling
and circling
teeth-clatter chainrings
and the blur

To take a stand made us dizzy
we had to make a move
back pedaling
skidding from bottom
to bottom knowing
every pothole
every bulb-burned street lamp
every stop sign maligned
every eye that stared us down
Nothing to call home

But the calling of the bicycle men


Written with Reka Jellema

© Brendan Bonsack & Reka Jellema
September 2014