Middle aged men in Lycra
Holding in their saggy skin
Pedal the country’s byways
Their youthful hearts within

Like multi-coloured parrots
They flock to coffee shops
With their skinny legs wrapped up in black
And their luminous green tops.

They order decaf lattes
And boast about their ride
Complaining about the drivers
Who force them to the side.

And how the gravel makes it hard,
And how perilous it can be
When they’re forced to ride in the bike lane
Made for them, especially.

Then once they’re fuelled with caffeine
They’re back on the road again,
The blues and greens and pinks and reds
Flying to the left hand lane.

I reckon they think they look real good
In their body hugging Lycra
Where their lumps and bumps are on display
As they pedal down the highway.

I’m sure they do enjoy themselves
These multi-coloured blokes
That pedal around the countryside
Annoying driving folks.

‘cos whether they’re on country roads
Or on suburban streets,
They challenge the car driver
To perform amazing feats.

We dodge and weave and stop and go
As they ride six bikes abreast,
Chatting loudly to each other
They seem ignorant of the rest.

Although their shirts of many colours
Make a bright and showy sight,
I wish they’d take their liquorice Lycra legs
And pedal off into the night.