Cycling helmet, dickhead.

“OI, dickhead”
that’s what I hear while riding
home in the rain from work one
Friday afternoon.
“Where’s your fucking
cycling helmet, twat”.

I turn my head to see where
the voice is coming from and
see a lady jogging over the road
shaking her head at me.
“Twat” she says under her breath
as I carry on riding further
away from her.

I don’t know what to think.
Why have I effect her day so much
that she has to point out to me
that i’m not wearing a cycling
helmet.

Where is she going?
Where will her run take her?
Why isn’t she wearing a high
vis vest?

She’s going keep on running
and I’m going to keep on riding
and she’s never going to
see me again
so it’s ok you don’t have to
worry about it because if I
fall off and crack open my
skull I’ll be thinking about
wearing a helmet next time.

I make it home and I’m still
thinking about the health
and safety jogger and I look
at my tyre and fuck I’ve
got a puncture.

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