Hurry up! Let’s make this light!
I yell to, not at, my kids
Lagging behind 
Engaged in uncomplicated childhood amusement.

Who’s taller? 
I bet you can’t do this!
The world is their playground. 

But now’s not the time! 
Hurry up! 

The lit white man mid-stride
Morphs into an orange hand
Flashing.

The countdown equal parts 
Informative and 
Demanding.

Just a heads up,

In 20, 19, 
18 seconds

It will no longer be safe to cross.
You still have time
But you better hurry! 

There are no cars at the intersection, yet. 
No 2,500 pounds of pedal to the metal
Waiting for the green 
To drop
Off to the races
Screeching down the drag strip
Reaching the finish line at the end of the block

In record time.

Seconds.
15, 14

There are no vehicular threats present. 
No fast nascars, engines revving.

But still,
We must hurry up. 

The kids heed my warning and run ahead to mom
Who joins in on their race.

Who’s the fastest?

They photo finish 
Safely  
On the other side of the street.

Somehow, I’m now the one
Lagging behind. 

9 seconds, 8 seconds
I have time.  

This isn’t my first go at Chicago street crossing.
Hell, I played Frogger at the arcade in my youth. 
Timing impeccable. 

Countdown

Didn’t account for the biker in my periphery,
Seemingly spawning out of thin air
quickly approaching.

I have the right of way.
He has to stop. 
His rate of travel suggests otherwise.

5 seconds, 4 seconds. 
I’m almost across
But not fully clear of the mad biker’s
Protected lane. 
His space. Sacred.

Huffing on his huffy 
Helmet fit snugly on a peanut head.
Happy hour dockers.

The character is now in full view. 

Lance Armstrong 
Disguised as middle management.

The bike is clearly his preferred mode of transpo.
Probably in his dating profile
Among other carefully curated
“Favorite things to do on the weekends” 

If he were driving,
He’d be the guy in a traffic jam,
Leaning on the horn
Yelling “Move it!” 
To other gridlocked cars.

He locks his target on me,
Never once considering hitting
The brakes.

Legs feverishly cycling
Alternating
Up and down
Between “it’s either me or you”

Me or you.
Challenging.

2 seconds.
2 feet from the safety of the curb
I hop skip fully out of the street.

Several inches clear of the mad biker’s path.
Wrath. 

Out of harm’s way. 
A second earlier or a second too late,
We would have collided.

He was going to run me over,
But he missed. 

A one-way exchange
Hurled behind me: 

“Get the f*#! outta the way!!”

Was he talking to me?
Definitely. 

But….I had the right of way. 
How was I wrong? 

I forgive the mad biker. 
He’s probably late for something. 
Bad day at work
Frustrated.. 

Bike lanes are
dangerous.