Picking a Bike

Abandoned, locked to the fate

Under a lamp post scavenger

Needing a part that is easy pickings.

The tires flat and a wheel untethered,

The bell ringing in a distant street

On a miss patched handle bar.

Break forks empty usually the first to go

Rust sets in and soon the cables disappear

And then a lever because its not much use with out break pads.

The feeling of inevitable use and need.

Rarely seen, but crouched over the machine

She breaks a chain and takes the rear derailleur.

Could I use the stem maybe a better size? but I ride by

Afraid of tilting the bike karma balance unfairly

The rear tire is now cracked spokes are missing

The rim is bent, peddles gone, one at a time.

The lock looks bigger now pressing the frame down

Where it once stood on wheels and the lock was perky

Now flat with a crushed soda can over the head tube,

More spokes gone? Some sticking out bent like stems

where the leaf was torn away. The tubes now used

For tying down a crate on the back of another bike

Finally the tires go, cut and used I don’t know

Now the frame and lock lay rusted unable to be freed

Then its gone and the sign post waits

For the next bike to suffer the picking and pecking in the night.


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