It's A Hit Poem by Eillio Imbasciati

Played the road,
Medium rider, at a pace even he cannot understand
It was snow time, and there was no place for space
Ended up on the ground floor of the hood of a car, what nonsense,
A folly of the spirit and of misdirection
Front bicycle wobbles, his focus insulted
Shaken like a weathered Oldsmobile,
Regardless, he's still rumbling like a pro fullback
This trip must not fall, he shouldn't shatter
It's a hit, but that doesn't mean he misses the Top 40