In Which I Unwittingly Fight A Bungie Cord And The Bungie Wins

On pre-dawn bike trips many hazards loom --
Both real and real imaginary; some
Are naught but shadows; others, in the gloom,
May look like lurking muggers, but just dumb,
Mute signposts stand there when I'm close enough
To make that out. I know this and prepare
Each morn for that frisson. But other stuff
No mental calisthenics can, I swear,
Quite make predictable. Of course, in part
'Tis,too, my fault for moongazing right where
A vicious bungie cord (curse the black heart
Of he who left it; may he wind up there
In trailer park hell where such boobs belong)
Reached up and caught my wheel and all went wrong.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Wish A Motorist Ill

Convertible driver, you funny guy,

While it's hilarious, sure, I agree,

To honk your horn just as I pass on by

You on my bike while I go 'crosst the street,

And laugh a brutish laugh at my small scream,

It's funny, too, to hope that some day soon

A murder of foul crows cuts loose a stream,

A rain of well-used carrion, right at noon,

On you and your sweet ride. I'd not so curse

Were honking as I passed your only sin --

But revving up your engine with a lurch

Right for me? Lo, the harridan within

Me wakes and calls down all upon your head

A shower of shit. You'll wish that you were dead.