If other men are cars

You are my bicycle.

Eccentric individualist

tweed jacket and tie.

Some women might mock

yesterday's Englishman

I am enchanted.

Cars aren't always fast:

traffic snarled, fume choked

while bicycles slip past

in nonchalant freedom.

Your independent mind

leaves lesser man baffled.

I am impressed.

But like a bicycle

our relationship's hard work.

As I still struggle up hills

I wonder if before long

I'll leave you rusting

while I look for a car.

I am exhausted.