Along Lonsdale’s measured lanes he rides,
A muted engine humming time and need;
Steel wheels trace the city’s patient tides
Where lines are drawn for motion, not for speed.
His helmet seals the weather from his face,
A visor holding back the urban glare;
The jacket bears the scuffs of constant pace,
The marks of work repeated everywhere.
Behind him, boxed and bound in canvas square,
Tomorrow’s meals and moments wait their turn;
The city eats, and he must ferry care
From door to door where lights and kettles burn.
No fanfare greets him as he slips between
The kerb and traffic’s unrelenting flow;
Yet Melbourne’s pulse, efficient and unseen,
Moves partly by the miles his tyres know.
O Lonsdale Street, your verses hum and roll
On battery and breath and borrowed time;
In one brief pass, a rider makes you whole
A working line within the city’s rhyme.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 1057
