the mechanic crossed his arms
and kicked a notch in the soil
he was stumped by the puddle of oil

the dirt bike sputtered
and the mechanic muttered
an epitaph to the dying yamaha:

she was a sweet bike
did some fine stunts
and though rocks dinged her up
and rust crept into her core
she gunned like a roar
she gunned like a roar


and the dead yamaha
twisted and shriveled
choked with vines of rust
clanged into the scrap pile
and returned to dust