Bikers love me
I don’t love
them.
So, why?
I have to be suspicious.
For being a bike.
Everybody loves me
There’s no
irony in this kind of poetry.
If I say it, I mean it:
Everybody lies.
Fireworks!
In every neighborhood,
In every city
Not everybody is having fun.
Your poor dog has been barking for hours.
Some kids, are barking louder.
