A bike

A racing bicycle

A rusty bell’s sound

Wound down to a rasp.

Sliding grips and horns

Slip from a grasp

And chains

Whose revolutions are near

Done.

The cables need more grease.

There falls another piece.

Today I’ll need a fleece.

A pannier full with tools

I no longer know how to use.

Pay someone to take good care,

Shame of going there, there. There.

Light gears and brake more fear.

It’s all down hill from here.

I’ve charged the batteries dear.

Enjoy those larger curves

Rocks I’ve learned to swerve.

A rusty bell

Whose sound’s a rasp.