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
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