Modern art sublime

Today, I found this abandoned bike on Brighton Beach, beneath the pier, unwanted, unloved. Nevertheless, ChatGPT, with a little persuasion and guidance, has found it to have not only an existential soul but all the trappings of ‘modern art sublime’.

Ode to a Brighton Bike

Upon the pebbled Brighton shore,

A bike lies wrecked, it rides no more.

Its wheels once spun with daring flair,

Now caged behind a steely stare.

Rust blooms orange on its frame,

A monument to love’s disdain.

Who left it here, mid salty spray,

To languish, rot, and fade away?

A boot still clings - its sole protest,

Against this life of cruel neglect.

Once partners speeding down the lane,

Now stranded, stuck in seaside shame.

A basket, bent, with secrets kept,

Might whisper tales of rides adept.

Of groceries, or lovers’ trysts,

Now home to sand and seaweed mist.

Oh Brighton Beach, you fickle host,

To broken dreams and driftwood ghosts.

This bike, once proud, now takes its place,

Among the ruins time will erase.

So passersby, do pause and glance,

At this sad bike’s ironic stance.

A relic bound in seaside grime - 

Brighton's answer to modern art sublime.