Bye bye, Bicycle

What a bicycle!
Sergeant Pluck would be delighted
(to confiscate it)
as would the magnificent Jams O'Donnell.
To Seanso Pansa it looks like an iron donkey.
And, indeed, we met not far from La Mancha.
Don Quijote's country, that is,
not Don QuiScottie's.
If the sky doesn't drop on my head,
I shall be there from January till April
for a long-desired quest within the realm of the letters.

Laughing Lhursday* – The Atomic Theory

In case you wish to read the words: The Englisch text you find here, at the blog of my friend Jams who today would have become 55; the translation into German here. 
Like five years ago, I do like thinking of my friend Jams having a pint of plain tonight with Flann O'Brien [and perhaps a second with Father Jack whilst Ted (not Father Ted, obviously) is reciting an episode of The Master and Margarita; discussing with Sergeant Pluck the advantages and disadvantages of becoming a bicycle, whilst feeding Mimi with cheese; taking phantastic photos while strolling around in his new surroundings without feeling any pain in his knees, let alone longing for Garra rufa to nibble skin off his feet; organising a weekly poetry contest the winner of which will be rewarded with a bicycle-esque looking William Topaz McGonagall-statue and ... ah ... oh well ... enjoying his new alltemporaries with what he uses to call drivel, and now and then sending love to his not-wife Shirl, a smile to his Mum and Dad, a twinkle of his eyes to Tim, Li, Elahe and amongst others ... well ... to you and to me.


* [For first time visitors]:
Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.