Quite bald, it blew on the by-pass

in slow moving traffic trailing a cortege.

After hobbling on three wheels a garage,

chiding me, buried in a skip its remains.

An ignominious end.

Yet after fifty thousand miles of hail and shine

it left its mark, a latex varnish

while killing prey (insects foxes badgers)

or squealing in pain at sharp bends

when under-inflated

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