Monday Blues: A Watery Grave...

Was it a discard, detached from someones stolen bike?

Was it beyond repair? Or,

did someone only think it was beyond repair?

Did it quickly settle on the river bottom

after being thrown in anger

from riverbank bike path?

Was it affectionately dropped from bridge above,

silent memories of past rides falling with it?

Until, splash,

breaking all ties to utility
it came to rest in the mud beneath brackish tides.
Once it rolled along and over rivers of asphalt and concrete
linking cities and people; now
the river flows over it,
drawing in and out with the day.