Stolen

My bicycle was stolen late last year.

Here I was trying to be an eco-warrior and all and then some thief comes along and takes my bike. Harming not only me but the planet – not really, I now just catch the bus again which was running and emitting regardless of whether I rode or not.

My mother was grateful for the thief, I was not.

Eve – my wife – said that the bike was cursed from the start (I also hurt my back and required a bit of physio because of it), she said it was cursed because I didn’t ask her if I could buy it. I asked her how long had she kept that under her hat? Not long – I only had the bike for a few months.

Anyway I got Love is a Dog from Hell by Charles Bukowski for Christmas. Here is his poem:

Stolen

I keep thinking it will be outside
now
waiting for me
blue
front bumper twisted
Maltese cross hanging
from the mirror.
rubber floormat
twisted under the pedals.
20 m.p.g.
good old TRV 491
the faithful love of a man,
the way I put her into second
while taking a corner
the way she could dig from a signal
with any other around.
the way we conquered large and
small spaces
rain
sun
smog
hostility
the crush of things.

I came out of last Thursday night’s
fights at the Olympic
and my 1967 Volks was gone
with another lover
to another place.

the fights had been good.
I called a cab at a Standard station
and sat eating a jelly doughnut
with coffee in a cafe and
waited,
and knew that if I found
the man who stole her
I would kill him.

the cab came. I waved to the
driver, paid for the coffee and
doughnut, got out into the night,
got in, and told him, “Hollywood
and Western,” and that particular
night was just about over.