Quite bald, it blew on the by-pass

in slow moving traffic trailing a cortege.

After hobbling on three wheels a garage,

chiding me, buried in a skip its remains.

An ignominious end.

 

Yet after fifty thousand miles of hail and shine

it left its mark, a latex varnish

while killing prey (insects foxes badgers)

or squealing in pain at sharp bends

when under-inflated

 

Red-hot after a long haul but

never one to complain

that front near-side radial had a heart of steel

going where angels fear to tread

before reaching the end of the road