7.29

rubbed green beauty of steel

and wheels, gears and rubber,

british, upright, noble, elderly

solid friend of forty plus years.

we started out together almost,

riding parish routes on miles of

tree lined pavements through

five slippery gears.

we look quaint together now,

older both, I with a helmet I

never would have dreamed of

and a broader saddle of my own.

your tires so thin I barely dare

fill them to the pressure listed

in fear of burst, measure my

own laboring pumps.

bumps and scrapes mark us,

yet there is nobility and

strength, clean lines and the

grace of an earlier clearer time

that endures.

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