They sleep there
upon each other
stacked.....
piled.....

Pull out one
and all wil come
to hug you
in their
round arms

they are the memories
of journeys
to lands far away
and nearby joyrides

different shapes
different ages
some with reminiscent roughness
of gone days
some smooth enough
to be dumped
some torn
punctured, withered

they all lie there
in wordless gloom
dead
or declared dead

yes it is a graveyard
of black circles
and bodies of rubber
once the wheels
of giants, dwarfs and neglected