Vanity lost!

The bell still worked, I pinged it, the saddle had a tear,
The tyres were flat, I blew them up, I could go now, – anywhere,
The world was now my oyster, I could ride along the breeze,
Just as long as it was level, ( well I have got ancient knees ).

I loved it! (well the first bit), I felt a bit of pride,
Just me alone with ‘trusty’, it was good to get outside,
A slow and peaceful gliding, so easy on my mind,
( Didn’t notice all the motor cars,  queuing up behind).

Such language did they use at me, such words I won’t repeat,
I didn’t give in easily, I didn’t make a quick retreat,
For after all this was my town, this was my own abode,
And if I want, I’ll cycle, in the middle of the road.

I got fed up of taunting them and found a better street,
I was getting all my ‘mojo’ back, I was now ‘feeling me feet’,
With one hand one the handlebars and sitting back at rest,
But ‘vanity’ and ‘showing off’, would put me to the test.

I spied two nice young ladies, coming towards me,
And I though I would impress them, me and old ‘trusty’,
I thought, ‘I will do a wheelie, yes! That’s what I will do’,
(I could remember how to do it, – even though I’m 72 ).

I got a bit of speed up, and I aimed her straight and square,
Leaned back in the saddle, to pull the front up in the air,
But nothing happened did it, the wheel stayed on the floor,
And I pulled in desperation, till I couldn’t pull no more.

Too late to stop, I hit the kerb, full square, and burst the tyre,
And I sailed over the handlebars, about four foot,  (or higher),
I landed in a bramble bush, the thorns all scratched my arm,
And I ripped my ragged lycra more,  (and I lost my boyish charm).

The ladies giggled at me, then said, ‘Are you ok?’,
I said, ‘My dears, of course I am’. (But this had spoiled my day).
They bought me home in a lorry, what an ending for this chap,
His, Lycra ripped, his, Tyres bust and old ‘Trusty’s’ gone for scrap!

Sad day.
Mick.

(Copyright Michael Westwood 2017)