Bicycle Perverts

I like to watch people on their bicycles
At intersections, when starting:
Mounting pedals, standing, pumping,
Asscheeks roll over steady slinking hips
Like haunches.

I like to watch people on their bicycles
Along trails:
Short shorts and spandex, riding
up into crevices and curves,
Camel toes and soldiers at attention,
Squeezing, leather between their legs.

I like to watch people on their bicycles
In disrepair:
Cyclists, spines in cat-arches,
Heads bowed down, enormous quadriceps open,
Pretzels looking for problems in their
Chains, derailleurs.

Watching the spectacle of bodies on bikes--
Not machines of mobility but strange sex apparatuses--
Staring out car windows, on the decks at pubs.
They wonder if I am the man who calls into the talk radio station,
Says, “What's bothering me? Bikes.”
“I know, right?”
“Are they cars or are they pedestrians? Just decide!”
But I am the third voice on the line,
Breathing heavy.