The Broken Back, a poem by Adam Common, poet

And there she was,
Resting on the precipice,
My broken backed beauty,
The stuffing slashed from her seats.

My poor lady,
Her burned out husk invaded;
Stolen away, raped and burned,
And left face down in a river.

She'd drowned.

I'd wept for her.
Knees were grass stained for the trek,
The same amble of the lost
That men often walk alone.

Then I returned.
To find her gone, reclaimed
By the city, the river,
That all at once broke her down.

I cried.

To feel her curves,
That rough leather, cold metal,
Steady, assuring voice
I would never hear again.

And so I raged.
Death to my pale enemy,
That thief in the bastard night.
I'd love to take your love from you!

That's all.

What more to do?
She lays as scrap, broken backed,
In some depository,
Buried with her dead brothers,

And I live on,
Rusting and cracking for her,
Rolling downhill on flat tyres,
That never quite leave the road.