Effective December 26, 2020: All branches are closed to the public, except for library returns and Library Takeout for contactless holds pickup. Learn More

The Bicycle

by Ethan Strathdee


Light flowed off the smooth metal curves.

Bound to a tree by the one it serves.

The bicycle leant, silent as the grave.

Unmoving as a worshipper in the nave.

Around it, rushed a moving town.

Inexorable as the river rushing down.

The bicycle stood, a rock in the stream.


The bicycle lay, flat on the ground.

Around it there was not a sound.

Crumbling buildings dripped mortar, liquefying with the years.

Gray rain washed down broken gutters, dripping through holes like tears.


Trees crowded, roots twisting and overlapping.

Dripping water drummed a mournful tapping.

A gleam of rusting metal blinked from underneath an oak.

A far distant bullfrog let loose an echoing croak.

Low-lying vines clung tight, a corpse's veil.

For the long-rusting bicycle, now at the end of its tale.


Loading…