Elated No More

The elated cyclist smiled like a pony,
after a lump of sugar.
He had huge sunken eyes,
and teeth like a white picket fence
that protruded from a square hole
beneath coarse whiskers,
dry like Savannah brush.
Elated, yes, that he jumped the lights on East,
Making it across to the other side
intense euphoria,
before smashing into the lady
and her Chihuahua with the pink bow –
eggs and cheese on a dirty pavement,
Elated no more.

Written by Jack Brewis