You Are My Bicycle

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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 nonchalent 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.



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