Backpedaling

An old bicycle sits in my garage on a hook I use for a bicycle rack

Some guy named BOB sold it to me at the bike store some time back

He got it from his vendor, Acme Bike

It came on a truck, down the old turnpike

An immigrant from south of the border

Assembled my bike, as part of the order

Juan put the parts and the wheels together with the frame in a box

Juan crossed a desert filled with sand and rocks

In the middle of the night

He did all of his traveling out of sight

He came from a small town somewhere in El Salvador

Where he lived with his father in a tiny little shack

But way in the back, In the corner of the shack

There hung an old bicycle left over by a visiting missionary

The bike was forgotten and tires were flat

But the tale of the bike and how it came to be where it was at

Was as simple as the father of Juan trading a goat

with a missionary who brought it over on a boat.

Somewhere in a shop in England or maybe the South of France

The missionary bought the Bike from a man named Robaire

He got the bike from his vendor The Majestic Bike Factory

It came on a wagon, down the road by the sea

An immigrant from north of the border

Assembled the bike as part of the order

John put the parts and the wheels with the frame in the box

He crossed gangplanks and traveled over docks

But alas I must bring this tale to an end, before I cause harm

Suffice to say, that Johns father had a run down hut on the landlords farm

And there hung in the hut, an old, dilapidated, beat up wagon

Mikeb