Releasing the inner bicyclist I set off
down the street
Not yet sure of my direction nor of who’d
meet
The road was long, with many obstacles in
my way
The cars, pedestrians even other cyclists
making hay
My sure foot in England counted for little here
The Hungarian green cross code, is less
rules
More guidelines by which to steer
And very few obey the lights, that much to
me was clear.
To navigate, I must admit my method
somewhat poor
I held extended to the front an open book
as cure
with one hand I held the road list, with
the other I did steer
And as I made my progress, my eye was half
in the distance and half near
Few things come to mind about that dreadful
morning
That now in hindsight might have given me a
warning
Perhaps one was the traffic, and another
the beeping horns
Perhaps the capricious nature of the zebra
crossing more like a unicorn
For guidance as to how to be, I followed
the cultural norm
When in Rome, do as the Romans do, be like
St George who fights the Great Orm
I took as my example the cyclist in front,
She weaved and dived between the traffic
like her bike was made of magic
I likewise tried my hand, losing some sense
of self
In the pursuance of an unreachable dream,
what one may lack is mental health
So stopping at a lights at a meeting of two
roads
One Erszbet tér the other Joszef Attila ut,
is where I begin my ode
The cyclist ahead had seized the chance and
crossed when lights were red
I felt this cannot be right so held my
steed from rearing dread
As I waited, I looked around, uncertain of
my location
And yet in the same moment perceiving its
general commotion
The air was tense like in a tennis
competition
We stood at match point poised until the
lights changed our constitution
In my general perusal of the scene
I spotted a red-haired ruffian, looking
large and rather mean
I decided in my mind he was one I should
avoid
And so, looked back down at my book to
follow the route I had thus far enjoyed
It seemed no clearer from the glance that I
briefly took
And yet without another guide I did decide
to keep out my book
At that moment the providential lights did
change their hue
And I followed on the rolling traffic in
its crawling queue
However, I did not make it very far before
I had to stop
As the green man had signalled pedestrians
across his shop
Most made their way quick with efficiency
But one man lingered on the pavement
rendering my path unfree
If you have not guessed it, this was my
red-headed foe
Who had beside his gym-built bulk his bull
dog in tow
Since my own light would soon be changing
back to red
I had to take my chances in the pedestrian
flow now drip fed
The green man he was flashing, and the
majority had crossed
Just this one hulk slacking, not even on
the pied path tossed
So,
I proceeded with a gentlemanly care
Slowly pedalling my bicycle in the crisp
morning air
In one hand was my book
And my eye it fully did look
A clear path to my fore
And so, I advanced and seized my chance as
if through
An open door
All at once I heard a pitiful yelp,
And to my surprise, the Bull-dog's cries preceded my own need of help
The impact of a stepping fool (the man)
Had caused me to unbalance nearly falling
from my stool
This great Hungarian Hulk then proceeded to
yell
‘You have run over my dog’ or something of
the ilk, I could not tell
His face was mad and steaming, red as a
raspberry fruit
The ginger hair upon it made his look a
fiery hirsute
Before I even knew what was going on
He had grabbed my rucksack and from my bike
I was being flung
I landed on the hard road, my lap-top laden bag nearby
My arm was cut, the shock
like lightening strike from a blue sky
I picked myself up quickly and looked this man
in the face
He was still yelling some Hungarian, his
dog had run from its place
As I put on my bag, he left and turned to
find his dog
I took that as my cue to leave the scene of
this mad grog
Some onlookers stood and watched, but I had
cycled on
I had no desire to face his mad fire, nor
to gather a throng
Hurting from the bruising, but wheeling not
in vain
I made my way to my destination, vowing
never to cross his path again
Just the next street on, I met a couple of
cops
And thought to tell them the incident so up
to them I stopped
Luckily one spoke English and I explained
my case,
However, his look and shrug dismissive,
Meant the criminal could not be traced
Looking back in hindsight, I reflect and
trust
That this man lacked perception, his reality
was rust
Imagine on the long weekend, he had filled
his veins with drugs
And on this bright new morning he had slipped
on reality's rugs
Then again perhaps the city drives such men
berserk
As they go about their daily duties or see
about their work
It must be a place of ditties, and this
ballad is but one
Just another song of the city, and now my
song is sung
