dit Pere Ubu

In the Parc des Princes

sashes and bouquets

the winner smiles

I did it for France

Alone on the Alps

Tommy Simpson is dying

christ it's hard

he takes a little help

(FOR THE DEFINITIVE AUSTRALIAN CYCLING POEM, "MULGA BILL'S BIKE" SEE BANJO PATERSON; SEE ALSO CYCLING IN ART AND LITERATURE, AND BOOKS.) Il Campionissimo When you were king of the mountains

Fausto

the kilometres hissed by

like busy moments

beneath your tyres

and the pave was no more

than grit on your tongue

young Italian girls

threw wayside flowers

as you ticked past

spokes flashing in the sun

and in the Tour de France

peasants in the Alps

leaned from windows and shouted

allez Coppi!

and forgot their own man

I remember how

you never seemed to lose

and how

you pushed your goggles

on to the brow

of your thin face

and smiled

as you crossed the line