r/poetryonewordatatime

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)

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)