before the fall
I craned my neck to catch the glint
Of afternoon off my new prize:
Two black and shining fenders curved
Between quick turning wheels and me
And preened above the rain–slick street.
Behind as well two magpies flit,
No doubt all jealous; watched me rise
Up off the saddle, head still turned,
Then tip! — reflectors coming free
To glitter on the rain–slick street.