Six people transforming the way they travel
My best beloved bicycle is lame.
Limping sore, out back, beside the shed door,
where it waits for a ride it will not get today.
Its perished rear tyre edges let it down, though game
It is to bear me, whizzing, lightly, clicking wheels and more
Besides, to Fort Kinnaird where Mammon holds sway.
Packed, there our purses disgorge themselves of blame,
From seas of cars washed upon that many windowed shore,
Before the thundering waves dissipate, driving our wares away.
Oh best beloved bicycle your sacrifice puts me to shame!
So out I go, to Leith Cycle Shop, to get a tyre for you -
one with reflective edging, and upend you, gently, on the kitchen floor.