Sonnet I

So, everyone cycles around Oxford, including me sometimes. One day I borrowed Brad's bike and cycled to the Oxford Express stop, one of the bus lines that goes into London. I got back late from London & left my bike locked up overnight in favor of a ride home. When I came back to retrieve the bike, all that was left locked to the bike rack was the frame. Sigh. So now I am left with the pedophile bike, which will have its own sonnet in due time...

In Memory of Dawes1, or The Rape of Everything but the Lock

Your rusted chain might skip a couple gears
The light you bore burned stronger in months past
The seat had lumps, it often lightly seared
my steadfast aching little lady ass.

Your chipping paint did spot with bird poo caked
The mud guard on your front was cracked and loose.
With gentle pumps I beckoned your rear brake.
It squealed in pain; the wheel's shake was profuse.

But faithful friend you briskly carried me
Cross roundabouts, paths lined with fresh new blooms.
That fateful day I fled to the city,
I callously left you to certain doom.

Those nasty townie teenage ne'er do wells
Did strip you of all whistles save the bell.2

1. Dawes was the brand of the bike.
2. Right now I am reading For Whom The Bell Tolls. Just a little FYI. Slow start, but now I am very into it. Though I realized a little too late I should be reading something like Brideshead Revisited...