A big black bike, with frugal rubber tires
and an old fashioned handlebar,
is leaning against a whitewashed wall,
Someone had nicked it on the way from
the bar last night:
so the thief lives in one of the stone cottages
The bike, it looks catholic,
made of hollow steel tubes, chains and rubber
it really doesn't care who rides it.
It didn't used to be like this, years ago
I often found a donkey grazing outside
the houses it seemed to be a normal thing,
friendly animals didn't care who rode them;
nowadays if a tractor goes missing
... police and questions asked.
Me? I rather walk home from the bar.