My Last Bike

  

    I was in the right lane --
    Something wrong with my
    Crankcase and looking back
    I saw a line of oil streaming
    Out behind as a truck not
    Seeing nudged me off
    And down an embankment.

    Later, Susan wide-eyed
    Listened to my tale
    And between sobs said
    She had never until just
    Then imagined my death.
    I no longer ride - the
    Streets being crooked

    And my eyesight
    And hearing failing.
    But I may have wept
    Considering her death
    As it crept alongside
    And nudged her
    Out of my life.