Ode Of An Ex-Biker

I bought a bike for fun,
A kind of two barrel grease gun,
Which only serves
To show my nerves
Were shot before I'd begun.

I cleaned up the paint and the chrome
With wire wool and pumice stone,
But thick oozing oil
Defied all my toil;
I learned to leave oil well alone.

I kicked up my camel of tin
To hear its twin engine,
But my eardrums beat
A hasty retreat
And I could not hear much for the din.

I climbed up upon the bolide,
You might say "Took for a ride".
In panic struck fright
I just held on tight.
I couldn't hold off if I tried.

The first bend we came upon
The power came on like a song.
We carried right on
When the road left had gone.
I wondered what was going wrong.

I came off, you must have guessed,
The bike came off second best.
I don't repent
That off I went,
Put off by my first real test.

The bike is rotting there still.
Where I'm concerned it will.
I've had enough
Of cutting rough.
I'm wise now to the whole drill.

Here is the moral, my friend:
My heart will eventually mend,
But I cannot pretend
That the final bend
In my tale is aught but the end.


Ben Crossley