(A Kilmer on a bike.)
With apologies to Joyce Kilmer:
I think that I shall never like
A poem as lovely as my bike.
A bike whose hungry tires are prest
Against the asphalt’s flowing breast;
A bike that looks at God all day,
And lifts her handlebars to pray;
A bike that may in summer wear
Trailing streamers, just like hair;
Upon whose saddle snow has lain;
Whose chain will rust if left in rain.
Poems are made by fools and losers,
But only God can make a cruiser.