one hundred fifty thousand

Across many states, the sun is setting
A chain spinning warm summer air
It’s falling behind the buildings and hills
150,000 will not ride along like before
Muddied roads, paved roads, dirt roads
will not have shouting rubber wheels
Cities, towns and parks were a part of them
Places that were but will never be again
Even death is tired from peddling them away
but this count isn’t final, more bikes will be abandoned

By Amaury

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