I found this on an old PC , allegory of 'The seven ages of man'
The Seven Ages of bike
I came alive as your feet and hands grasped me.
I gave you freedom.
Mum’s heart uttered confetti goodbyes,
when we shimmied across the lawn like a steel eel.
New Worlds in mud pies we discovered.
Guts of wet mud embraced my metal hands.
I heard Mum shout ‘Don’t touch the oily chain.’
Black blood brothers we became.
'Go Faster, faster.' Shouted the goading Kids.
You grabbed the scruff of my bars,
and your lung’s stole the wind.
Shouts to slow down faded like vapor trails.
Invisible spurs clanked my pedals as we rode back.
Alison blonde as September corn.
My front wheel nested in her blue denim purity.
I shared your sweaty pulse in my steel heart.
I lay prone in the stubble watching your frame spring and unload.
My humming tyres tread a pilgrimage to the pub.
You pour the world down a thirsty trapdoor.
Your raucous fumes belched beery spit on my metal coat.
In homeward duet; I’d sway, you’d sing.
Then you’d chain me in the shed.
' 5,4,3,2,1 Go!'
A metallic beating mass is racing; sinews tighten, cables shift and sprockets growl.
Hammer anvil hard,
white sweat in red mist we fly.
You and I, aggression's spent ride home in soldered communion.
We rode our road to work, with sleepy heads.
Wallets and tyres as thin as a sliver of Moon.
You,wishing to be fed wriggling gobs of overtime.
I stood under a black, starless tin sky. I’d wait,
to carry you home in blinding wet, mossy fog,
or roaring dark.
I stopped when they gave you a watch and told you ‘time doesn't matter now’
Rust red smears over me like a blue cold kiss.
I’d hurl my iron soul, pulverise it into filings, to magnetise you back.
Weld you to my saddle, anoint you with my spokes- just to ride me.
Where are you?.
I dream; your heart still booms through my every joint,
my chain still bites hard on oily lusts.
Will you remember me?.
General bike chat that does not fit elsewhere
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