a bike shop
a poem about some bicycles with higher ambitions
.
on unseen wire, tires hang
like fallen halos with no shine
a wish to return to rubber tree
far removed from roads of duty
.
below frames jockey for daylight
after months of hibernating
awakened by fruity bird songs
in vogue with the blossoms of spring
.
a smell of latex aftershave
clings to walls dense with biker tales
the near miss, that perfect gear shift
meeting of man and half-machine
.
each with a dream of open road
miles of roads happy to assist
pushed by breath as gravity resists
each one a world unseen, asleep
.
