At first I don't notice it
but this trike
is well-loved.
The worn leatherette seats
are mended,
a handmade mirror
is screwed near
the ceiling,
all the wires that
secure the hooks
on the frame
of the windshield
are covered
with black rubber,
the black handrail
hanging near
the side car
is clean and
well maintained.
It's only a trike,
you might say,
random in selection,
really,
because I'll never know
when I'll ever
ride it
again.
But somehow,
the image of
the bright yellow flowers
twined around
the sampaguita,
hanging from
the ceiling hooks
of the trike
made me smile
the whole
day.
Someone bothered.
Someone thought
this place
was sacred.
And I am grateful
to the gruff old man
who drives this
machine.
He doesn't smile
but he's generous
with us
who hand over
our seven
pesos
in the morning.
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/jhuntarun/2799886444/
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