In a stranger’s Open Garden
a penny farthing bicycle propped against a rendered wall
conjures images of a gent in worsted black,
back jarred at every turn of metal wheels;
knees, pumping like pistons, conveying him to the village
for a dignified descent.
Whimsy or artifice ensures the Leg-up meets the latest Leg-over,
a 2006 multi-geared, sleek, gleaming, silver-grey Benz
with more spokes than pappi on a dandelion,
tyres pumped for cruising, and slung with a seat
adjustable every-which-way for bottom line comfort.
Ready to roll.
Our glance slews to the flared nostrils of a French bone shaker,
1865, wooden wheels askew, scratched and dinted like old luggage.
The old-timer rocks lightly in the breeze.
It casts rheumy eyes on the youngster
with its eat-my-dust attitude and
ponders the ride.