The Frame Is Still There

Three months it's been locked to the post —

orange cable, twice around the frame.

I pass it in the morning, in the evening.

This morning wasn't the same.

The front wheel gone. Just the fork

aimed at the concrete, the slots

empty where the axle sat.

Someone came, took what they got,

and left the rest. Left the lock

still fastened, still performing

its job — holding the frame,

holding the post. The morning

I stood there too long. Was late.

The cold smear on the sidewalk

where the tire had pressed for months.

I got my coffee. Walked

back past it on the return.

The cable. The frame. The air

where the wheel used to be.

The lock. Still there.

Still holding what it has.