Suspended in time like an icicle doomed
Inside my garage lives my bicycle tombed
Calmly waiting for his resurrection,
Wanting abuse instead of protection.
We should weave through on single track trails
Instead of lacking luster with dust or entrails
Of those caught in the arachnid’s weave,
Spun out in wheeled out webs we receive
From someone that just wants to hang us out to dry,
Wait for gears to squeak, tires to sigh,
Then deflate us down to tire rot,
And tell us that our rims are shot.
It’s time to ride around the trees in
our single track trail
Let living prevail
And get dusty for the right reason.