His Grandfather’s Road
by Ping Yi

 

His right to stay fit, whilst outfitted

in his splendiferous spandex, surpasses

your right to life and limb this day,

on the forest trail. His form flawless

amidst the flora, his pace immaculate –

Hermes blesses his heels! If not for

your plodding along, wasting breaths

yakking away, he’d be at breakfast

with the Prime Minister by now.

 

His necessity for velocity, mounted

on his silver-brushed titanium bike,

arrayed in dreamcoat lycra, negates

your naive belief that some speed limit

on a puny sign, along this green corridor,

protects you from bodily obliteration.

Zeus on high would forgive His Person,

absolve him of any sin, much less

mowing through you pins in His Way.

 

Her Desire for Discourse, with her Kindred,

on this rustic morn aburst with birdsong,

entitles her to stop her automobile,

crank down her window, and natter on

a Most Worthwhile ten minutes, in the middle

of the single-lane exit from the condominium during peak hour, notwithstanding

you two dozen drivers behind, each sleep-deprived,

compliments of that Nameless Evil who refuses

to house-train their new-bought Hellhound.

 

Dawn again, with rosy fingers showering

eternal kisses upon Them, as They await

the Golden Vessel to the Lyceum;

standing astride as Colossi and Progeny,

denying your cars leave from your lots.

Prometheans stealing your pre-booked chariots,

hurling wine glasses into the pool, howling

at Hecate’s moon. Lords and ladies abroad

in this everlasting Land of their Forefathers.

 

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