White Ghost Bikes

At first it looks like a piece of art, tethered for display -
A delicate use of white paint has covered the whole frame,
Wheels, chain, pedals, and brakes.
The D-lock keeps the back wheel safe
From thieves, if they would dare steal a shrine.
The handlebars, curved like a Rams horn,
Rest on the roadside railings.
It gathers glances from drivers at the lights;
They scan from red to white and read,
This marks the place where he lay dead.

33, with a wife and child who lay asleep
At home. His frame fell flat, then crushed
Under the weight of a lorry turning left.
The wing-mirrors didn’t catch
His thighs push off in a low gear.

He’d contacted his wife by text
As he handled the back roads,
Telling her the new shorts she bought him chaffed,
And wondered if she’d help him slide them off
When he got home.
Instead, they pulled down the zip to show her his face.