THE BICYCLE There was a bicycle, a fine Raleigh with five gears And racing handlebars. It stood at the front door Begging to be mounted; The frame shone in the sun. I became like a character In "The Third Policeman," half Human, half bike, my life A series of dips and ridges, Happiness a free-wheeling Past fragrant hawthorn hedges. Cape and sou'wester streamed With rain when I rode to school Side-tracking the bus routes. Night after night I dreamed Of valves, pumps, sprockets, Reflectors and repair kits. Soon there were long rides In the country, wet week-ends Playing snap in the kitchens Of mountain youth-hostels, Day-runs to Monaghan, Rough and exotic roads. It went with me to Dublin Where I sold it the same winter; But its wheels still sing In the memory, stars that turn About an eternal centre, The bright spokes glittering. -- Derek Mahon (b. 1941 Belfast)