The Steel Frame Job: A Hardboiled Haikrostic
Smoke-filled garage reeks—
Thieves ripped my prize from the wall.
Empty hooks mock me.
Vultures circle quick,
Eye my bespoke steel beauty.
Nightmare becomes real.
Low-life scum scatter
Each time I flash my badge ‘round.
Everyone stays mute.
Screaming for answers,
Hot Campagnolo gears stripped,
Eaten by the streets.
Finally I break
Fat Tony’s lying black heart.
In blood, truth spills out.
Ending with gun smoke,
Lugged frame gleams in morning light.
Dream machine rolls home.
Originally published at Cycling West on June 13, 2025