You hike to the store some three miles
to buy bread, milk, and the Daily News.
It's locomotion of a personal style,
an old school way to cruise.
Thrill to the mundane, come to know the bliss,
the rise in the road speeders don't notice,
the Zen of yet another hard mile
and the junker marked "4 sale."
Breeze by banes without consequence:
the beast which barks behind a fence,
the motorist who, as if to test, abruptly swerves.
In the here and now, show no nerves
but gesture from the shoulder:
a nod to the towed four-door,
a finger flipped in anger
at drivers who endanger,
and a Christlike palm of the hand
to bless each yielding wheelman.