Polite cyclist

To that guy I see around over the years, mostly with your dark hair under a helmet, framing that square jaw and well-adjusted smile.

We cross paths on the bike highway and find ourselves in the queue together at the bottle shop while it pelts down outside, or on the back deck at a party. I am glad of your sensible conversation at two am. I passed you yesterday on the footpath on St Georges Road, and at CERES a while back I set eyes on your partner and the small children you summon in every conversation.

You seem like a kind man. But please don't brandish my name like a weapon, showing me how sharp your memory is. I like you. Put your memory away, or prompt mine. Talk about yourself in the third person or something.