The tire swells tight like skin

The tire swells, tight like skin

stretched over a bruised knuckle,

a nail’s dull gleam caught in weak sun,

a slow, quiet hiss—

the soft sound of giving way.

I pull the metal out, careful,

the rubber folds in a slow sigh,

letting go of air like breath

escaping through a cracked window

on a day already too warm.

The hiss fills the hollow spaces,

a metronome of failure,

a sound I can’t fix fast enough,

watching the bike tire sag,

tired as I am, and losing air.