THE BIKE MAN

 

says that my bike is a good bike. A good bike,
yes, he says.
I pet my bike. A good bike,
yes, I say to my bike, the good bike,
after the bike man confirms that it is good. My bike purrs like a bike.

 

I ask the bike man if I am good.

 

The bike man pours me an espresso and sets it on the good seat of my good bike.
I drink it
in one motion. He motions for me
to follow him to the back of the bike store
to hang from the ceiling like the good bikes hang. There
he oils me and pumps me full of air and considers me
from every angle. You are a good man,
the bike man says. A good man, yes, he says,
petting me. I purr like a good man.