Those straps were once black

I am afraid, see past the fade, where they’re frayed.

Four plasticized clips

what was once rust, now mostly crust, you should not trust.

The ratcheting clamps

always were crap, now they might snap, your bike will slap.

Train tracks from the lot 

I do not like, the way you spike, your bouncing bike.

A high-end machine

the carbon gleams, Kashima screams, it’s made of dreams.

Your très fancy car 

sparkles like dawn, it sounds like Tron, shaped like a prawn, 

Time for something fresh

don’t need the best, but you can rest, when bike can’t wrest. 

It cost fifty bucks

in twenty-ten, don’t buy again, crap even then, 

Your bike rack is cracked

it’s expired, I perspire, kill with fire.