u/BicycleBobBussey

Drifting On Our Own Routes

I came upon you as I cycle down the road.
At first an image in the distance.
When I caught up I slowed.
Asking if you needed assistance.

We cycled together for miles that day.
Grinding, discussing, sweating, laughing.
As we wound around those roads finding our way.
All the while wondering could this be a befriending.

We made plans, and we did ride again many times.
Encouraging one another up those real and unreal hills.
Discussing worldly questions of all kinds.
Avoiding dogs, squirrels, snakes and many unsightly spills.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.
Months became many years.
Years rolled by like fast moving weather fronts.
We even shared on long trips some fries, burgers and beers.

Time changes, or we change with time.
Those rides became less frequent.
Then they stopped…to me a crime.
Like so many other things, priorities became inconsistent.

I still cycle, but not as frequently as before.
I still see it as a microcosm of life.
It keeps me grounded even when it seems to be another chore.
I like to think it keeps me as sharp as the sharpest knife.

I’ve met new friends along the road.
Learned that many of us are lone wolfs.
We join groups, then drift along not wanting our inner selves to become too exposed.
Realizing that we are each on our own roads.

Bob Bussey (May 15, 2026)

Laughter

Laughter
In the hot sun.
Or in the cooler shade.
Brings joy to many persons ears.
Purity.

Bob Bussey (May 13, 2026)

Gracefully Falling

Do you know how to fall gracefully?
Like when you get fired from a job.
Or when a sexual fantasy disappears fancifully.
Or when you fall of your bike like a meaty glob.

Have you noticed that those falls are not random?
That they occur almost in slow motion.
Like making an unbalanced stop on a tandem.
With feet trapped in rat trap pedals, causing a commotion.

Have you noticed that they occur almost at dead stops?
When balance is at a premium.
When your wheels are no longer spinning tops.
If only you had listened to that mystical medium.

But your stuck.
Nowhere to turn.
You’ve run out of luck.
You’ve got no more matches to burn.

So you end up on the ground.
Feet still in those ratty pedals.
Bike floating above you and all around.
Forget any medals.

So you pick yourself up again.
After loosening those rat trap straps.
You fluff up your lion’s mane.
Take of again and put your feet back in those traps.

Find a new job.
Find a new mate.
Refuse to become a worthless clod.
And scream at what certainly was not fate.

It certainly was not the fault of those old pedals.
The fall, I mean.
It must have been a lack of fundamentals.
So get up, get going, get back into societies stream.

Bob Bussey (May 8, 2026)

Clusters

Life comes in waves.
When you are young the waves are fast
Like a 13 tooth cluster and a 52 tooth chainring
Propelling you down the road at break neck speed.
Determined not to be last.

As you age, you need multiple toothed clusters.
Some with many teeth to climb life’s hills.
Others so you can spin through unavoidable spills.
Still others so you can sit up and filibuster.
Against life’s many unpaid bills.

Marriage requires a different cadence.
Then you need something like a 28 in back and 42 up front.
So you can have a steady spin.
Requiring so much more patience.
As new waves lap upon your mutual oceanfront.

Then there are those aging illnesses.
The ones that slow your cadence down.
Sometimes a 13 by 52 is what is needed for a grind.
As you search for that curing medical find.
So you can stay a bit longer…stick around.

The waves in between come with consistency.
No hurry, no rush, just a rhythmic balance.
Like riding a 28 by 42 setup on some rollers.
Something where you can spin as you build your palace.
Like a well trained group of marching soldiers.

I’m not sure what happens after death.
But I like to think that you will always have perfect clusters.
For riding up hills or in a headwind.
Perfect clusters and never out of breath.
Clusters that will let you relax and rest.

Bob Bussey (May 3, 2026)

On Being A Romantic

I like when she squeezes my arm tenderly.
When she gives me a smile and a wink.
I like when she speaks in hushed tones
And shares a sip of a new found wine.

It’s nice when she sits next to me, not across from me, at a
restaurant.
When she nods her head in appreciation.
When she thinks a Sunday stroll outside together is just the thing.
Or when she smiles when I bring her breakfast in bed.

I’m a sucker for smiles.
A seeker of hugs and kisses.
A giver of flowers and secret letters.
I’m all in on an afternoon snooze for two.

I’ll lay down my pen anytime
Just to be with her.
Just to catch her warmest scent.
Just to watch her comfortably sleep.

I’ll admit, I’m a romantic.
It just happens.
I can’t control it.
I’m helpless and hopeless when it comes to love.

Bob Bussey (May 1, 2026)

Greasy Hair

I have greasy hair

It’s completely, well, almost, by choice.

My dermatologist laid my sole bare.

Either wear sunscreen up there or carry the cancer scare.

But I like it.

With my top thinning

I like to think that grease keeps each strand fit.

It’s like pumping iron and smiling.

Now what’s left stays in place.

Sculpted to my aging head.

Like me, sitting still, out of the rat race.

Except after I go to bed.

Then my hair still seems to have a mind of its own.

It seems to rise upward on each side

Like some sort of statue made of 3D foam.

At times the upper part also joins in

Creating an unworldly cry.

Those around me have gotten used to my shine.

The shine on top of my head.

Both from my hair and my balding sign.

So lightly about it they do not tread.

Bob Bussey (April 29, 2026)

Noticing

Have you ever noticed

How it seeps through the walls

Saunters down the halls

Is not subject to any recalls

Have you ever noticed how it swirls around your head

Dives into your soul

Into your very being

How it even pervades your brushing your teeth.

Have you ever noticed it in your breath

In your step

In the drive to work

In your daily conversations

Have you ever noticed it while making love

While holding hands

While having a conversation over a fine meal

Or even while praying

Have you ever noticed that it’s like your shadow

Always there

Sometimes hiding, but always there

At times translucent, but still there

Have you ever noticed it while writing a poem

A song

A novel

If you have, you’re a lot like me.

I’ve made friends with it.

Sometimes it speaks to me.

Then I write about it.

Like this.

Bob Bussey (Jan 31, 2026, I think)

Daily Routine

I sat in my reading chair

Coffee in hand

A daily waking ritual

The hum of the refrigerator the only sound

Except for the constant ringing in my ears

Shades retracted

Revealing my view

Wildflowers growing around the vegetable garden

Grass a verdant green

Dense woods sculpting the shape of my yard

An old wheelbarrow tottering in place

Filed with dirt to become a planter

A lone burn pile waiting to explode with light

And then they appeared

Also a daily ritual

My little friends

Making no sound that I can hear thru the picture window.

Quicker than lightening

Shooting from one feeder to another

Protecting their domains

Searching as we all do for a sweetness

For a creature comfort

For sustenance

Close or in a distance

Wings propelling them forward, up, down or backwards

With ease and grace

As I watched in joy and wonder

A perfect display and reminder

That I must leave my reading chair

And take care

Of my daily needs with vigor and luster.

Bob Bussey (April 26, 2026)

Blessed and Unblessed

Blessed are those who serve.

Blessed are those who heal.

Blessed are those who teach.

Blessed are those who learn.

As the man picked up a new victim to strangle.

Blessed are those who create smiles.

Blessed are those who can create laughter.

Blessed are those who can paint.

Blessed are those who are patient.

As the woman slit her children’s throats as they bathed.

Blessed is the sunrise.

Blessed is the green forest.

Blessed is the bee sipping nectar.

Blessed are the birds as they fly.

As the drunk lights yet another wildfire.

Blessed is the yoga instructor.

Blessed is the runner.

Blessed is the backpacker gliding through the woods.

Blessed is the swimmer.

As the young man slams his speeding car into the crowd.

Blessed are those who love.

Blessed are those who forgive.

Blessed are those who pray.

Blessed are those who believe.

As the tyrant choked the life from her.

Blessed are the children.

Blessed are the parents.

Blessed are the siblings.

Blessed are the grandparents.

As the crazed man enters their home unwanted.

In this world

In this life

We are all at birth hurled.

No choice, simply born into worldly strife.

Yin and Yang for all unfurled.

But choices we all make.

For good or bad.

Our lives and others at stake.

Hopefully blessed and not sad.

Hopefully correct ones and not big mistakes.

Bob Bussey (April 24, 2026)