Bike tire spokes

Hover like a halo

Above your head.

They rotate as you

Contemplate, yes,

We all see your

Imagined jabs and

Inside jokes,

They poke us as you walk by.

No words required,

The gentle whirr is enough-

How silly of you to think

No one would notice

That your mental gears

Have melted into

Little external

Metal sticks

That only move

When blown by winds

Of condescension.

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