Wheel

In this wheel

I am spokes, smile and scowl.

Tonight, careering around the town,

I see all the pub doors closing

and take it personally;

don’t want to go in, don’t want to stay out.

Next week I'll tumble down these steps again;

people always make room

but then, just as I've nearly passed,

they kick me.

My smile and scowl are identical;

they think I'm a contraption.