Cuthbert's Final Ride

Cuthbert rode that bike through the fall. Chain rattling loud, like a broken

doll. His knees creaked, his hands wore scars. Under the dim

or fading stars. Oh, the gravel bit, the wind did

sigh. But Cuthbert laughed where others cried. Cuthbert man-

No fan of a plan. Life tossed you dice, you

took them in hand. Ironies and injuries, your badge, your pride,

till the road turned dark on your final ride. Bruises bloomed like

violet stains. A map of battles, of aches and pains.