Foggy, foggy is the day. Condensing from the air, Water droplets form and on The helmet that I wear, Obscure all visibility, Distort, deceive and fool The eyes that guide the bike I ride And it’s colder than just cool. Committed to the traffic flow, No choice but carry on; Cautiously disburse the drops As formed they did upon. Back and forth my glove to wipe The moisture from the shield In hopes I’d make it safely to A port to which I’d yield. Weaving then between the lines, I wavered to and fro Concerned my aptitude to drive While blind would surely show. But steadily the port drew near, I turned into the drive Whereupon my bike would fall And I would take a dive. Stuck between exhausting pipes That scorch when they are touched And graveled ground my leg had found A way to soon be crutched. I wiggled free, the pain enhanced Beyond the everyday, A passing biker rode his bike To where I just had lay. Stood my bike back on its wheels, For that’s where it belongs; I offered up my thanks although Embarrassment prolonged. So now I hobble ‘round about And grimace as I walk But thankful there was no one there To mock me as they’d gawk.