Threadbare saddle jammed too high
the bell, needless to say,
had lost its ding
wheels misshapen, spokes ready to
snap like spaghetti
tyres forget about it
The cycologist announced
my drivetrain
was on its last thread
There would be no escape from
slipping, and some
difficulty shifting
gears
While rust was rampant
also toxic, yes
I could feel this in my frame
He charged me a hundred
and left on his scooter
So clear the decks, bring out
the hammers
break the cycle!
this poisoned chariot
cannot continue
Mask on, goggles on
I chanted
break the cycle!
With weary arms and
perforated lungs
I spluttered
break- the- cycle!
as if my (very tiny)
life depended upon it
Time passed
As it always does
The house looked
like the aftermath of
a pressure cooker
explosion
Prone in the corner
I clutched my organs certain
no one could ever
reassemble the cursed vehicle
That was the simple part
No comments:
Post a Comment