Sunday 29 September

Like a summer's day

- just as before.

I rode out to bask in the sun.

Sweeping from leafy Mendip lanes

down to Bristol's busy streets

coloured by Totterdown, Clifton Wood

and the pennants of SS Great Britain.

As light played beneath the trees

a band rocked the harbour in Hotwells

where the engine throbbed and warmed my knees

and a festival filled the floating quay

- a city under a partying sky.

I blasted a greeting from slash-cut exhausts

then skirted the Bearpit

leaned thru the buses

and powered into Stokes Croft.

Past the girl

with her books on her shoulder

swinging along with a song in her heart.

Past the red-beard artist

promoting his work on the Big Issue kerb.

Past cafes, bars and convenience stores

and the derelict canvas

of urban revolt.

Past plane-makers’ torn-up runways.

To the motorway

and on to the docks.

Bristol’s Port

where ships leave their berth

to ride the Severn

and follow the sun

in exactly the way that they've always done. 

And I think the bike was the first to speak:

"This’ll do, Kev.

This'll do us for now."

I smiled and leaned back in the seat.

We rumbled along without a care

and half a mile on

I looked down at the bike

- it was shining.