The Day My Bicycle Wasn't Stolen

A crisp dawn cycle along the river

On the day my bicycle wasn’t stolen
From outside Temple station
I didn’t throw myself
To the ground sobbing
Temples throbbing
With indignation
And I didn’t dance
In ever-disbelieving circles
Round the lamppost
Where it hadn’t used to be
And where I hadn’t chained it twice
As snug in the rosy-tinted
Commuter morning
Before not undonning lycra
Behind a convenient awning
After a crisp, dawn
Bike ride along the river
That wouldn't have made
A monkey shiver
Because it had been
Stolen the day before
And my wife won’t let
Me buy a new one
And the police,
Desperate to avoid
The obvious pun,
Have told me to
Take a hike.


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Poem Study Notes:


I don't mind when people steal my bike. Actually I kind of enjoy it because I only ever buy the cheapest heap of junk I can find and so when one gets stolen it gives me an excuse to buy a new one.
Even more than having my own bike stolen, I enjoy it when a 'serious cyclist', all clad in lycra and dangly bits has had his upmarket equipment stolen.
I mean - obviously I sympathise, but it's a kind of gleeful sympathy.

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