April 9, 2024Abandoned Bicycle
A bicycle—a nice one—
has been locked to the lamp post
all summer and fall.
Tires gone flat.
A congregation of leaves
worshipping the wheels.
And on the brake levers
and the tiny bolts
that held the seat exactly
where someone wanted it to be,
rust is constructing
its sprawling embassies.
Maybe a drunk drifted
over yellow lines. A clot
formed in the thigh
and moved north.
Or somebody just got
sick and tired.
Anyway, the bike is waiting.
Its metals gleam urgently.
Soon the scavengers will come.
The pedals—unable to live
without each other—will vanish
into a fresh new marriage.
The seat will disappear
into a seat-shaped abyss.
One night, someone
will help himself to a wheel.
Not quite a bicycle,
but a start.
And the bike,
like an abandoned person,
will become a clock,
calibrated to measure
the precise duration
of loneliness.