'It just isn't right to talk to your bike!'

Daddy rang the Doctor. He came on the bus.
Looked Jennifer over and made quite a fuss.
Declared Jenny a worry, a rare case because
‘It just isn’t right to talk to your bike!’

And they called the consultants, who jumped in their taxis
In waxy white coats and smiles that were ghastly,
As Jennifer giggled, the experts grew nasty,
‘It just isn’t right to talk to your bike!’

Soon carriages of journalists and spiritual healers
Clacked on the tracks, while motivational speakers
Wearing bright red jet packs flew in from Costa Rica,
‘It just isn’t right to talk to your bike!’

‘No! It just isn’t right to talk to your bike!’
Screamed scientists from hovercrafts that raced into sight.
And they filled up the car parks, agreed they were right,
Then coughed in the smog long into the night.

And while the adults made plans in the dark and the grey,
Jennifer shrugged and just cycled away,
But her bicycle sighed as they rode out of view
‘You’d think grown ups would find something better to do.’